On April Fool's Day, Blessings, and Hardships...

It's April Fool's Day!

Today, I'm thinking about how far my husband and I have come (no kidding).  On April Fool's Day fourteen years ago, Rashieme called his mom, and despite my frantic protests, he left a message on her home-phone answering machine (yes, we had those back then) that informed her I was pregnant.

I was, by the way.

And due in June.  And we hadn't told her yet, because we were terrified, especially me.  We were young.  We hadn't been a couple very long.  We were living together out of wedlock.  I wasn't confident that his mother liked me very much, because Rashieme had flown down to Florida to visit me for a week the previous spring, and instead of flying back home, he'd ended up staying with me, until we both returned to Maryland that fall when I got into graduate school.  He'd went home for a couple months before moving back in with me when we got our first apartment (after we'd realized I was pregnant).  If the tables had been turned, and I had been Schelita, I probably wouldn't have approved of the woman who lured her son to Florida, then stole him away to another county when he finally came back home.

I remember freaking out as I watched Rashieme record that message, and when he hung up the phone, I was beside myself.  What was she going to do when she figured out this wasn't an April Fool's joke?

Truth is, she responded the way I hope I will, if I'm ever placed in a similar situation:  She didn't judge us at all.  She didn't lecture us, aside from the fact that she scolded us for not telling her earlier.  She was in love with that baby the moment she found out about her, and she immediately got to work buying everything imaginable for Kaliah.  Clothes, toys, a crib for her house so Kaliah could spend the night.  From the day Kaliah entered the world until Madea left us, Schelita loved her unconditionally.  They had an unbreakable bond.

And it all started with an "April Fool's" announcement.

I see some women posting on social media, encouraging others not to participate in any sort of joke pregnancy announcement--and I get it.  Pregnancy is not a joke.  Some women try for years to get pregnant to no avail; others suffer one or more miscarriage.  It makes for a touchy subject, and I ,of all people, would never tell another woman how she should feel about the matter.

Our stillborn Jasmine Celine was born in 2007.  I carried her for six long months, about five of which I knew she was sick.  I held her for one day, when they baptized her in the hospital room.  I picked out one soft, pink blanket to wrap her in.  I chose her shiny pink coffin.

This didn't stop me from participating in a similar April Fool's announcement when we learned we were expecting with Shay.

It was Rashieme's idea, again--he wanted to tell his mom the same way he had the first time, ten years ago.  And I agreed, because for us--it seemed fitting.  So we drove to her house, and this time, instead of panicking that she wouldn't believe us, that she'd resent me for playing games with the truth, we eagerly showed her the photo on the my phone of the positive pregnancy test.  I still remember her smiling suspiciously, checking the rings I always wear, pictured in that photo, with the ones that were and still are on my finger.  It took several minutes of convincing, even though she knew we had been about to start trying.  I think it was a nice full-circle moment, considering how she found out about Kaliah a decade before.

We told the rest of the world that night--I'd already told my mom shortly after I found out, and we'd already informed Kaliah she was going to be a big sister.  We'd sent her on a scavenger hunt, and the last clue was a pair of baby booties, with a sign that said, "Happy Easter!  Baby McFadden December 2015."  We texted a few other people we wanted to know before I posted the photos of Kaliah's search to Facebook--one of Kaliah holding the booties, and one of that sign.  I captioned it, "We're Pregnant!  April Fools?  Or Naw?"  I added a hashtag, "OrNaaaaaw!" (it was also cool, at the time, to say that).

I still stand by the way we told the world.  For us, it was perfect.  We've always been a family who jokes.  (Schelita especially.  When I went past my due date, she wanted me to buy a realistic-looking baby doll, cover it with jelly, get in the shower, and start yelling for Rashieme.  I, of course, said no.  You have to draw the line somewhere).

But Rashieme and I have also grown a lot.  We've suffered two more pregnancy losses--both very shortly after I found out I was expecting.  I get why some women would admonish others for making any type of joke about such a situation.  So for that reason, if our announcement about Shay offended you, and you happen to be reading this--I apologize.

But if we got to do it over again--I'd do it the same way.  It's what Schelita would have wanted.  It was exactly the kind of joke she and her son shared together, often.

I miss her everyday.

I'm sure some people would disagree with that choice.  They have the right to feel that way.  For me, every pregnancy announcement I see is bittersweet--but I don't think I've ever actually had a friend who wasn't pregnant post that they were.  Maybe my friends are just more mature than most people.  Or maybe it really isn't all that common, and all the posts telling people not to do something are addressing an issue that isn't super present.  Every year I see far more posts (several, at least) telling women not to joke about pregnancy than I see actual posts joking about pregnancies (0, by my count--unless you count my own four years ago--then I'm at 1).

Back to the bittersweet part:  I'm always happy for whoever is expecting.  I pray continuously for healthy pregnancies, for healthy babies.  I don't want any other family to go through what we have.  And I am legitimately happy for friends, colleagues, former students, family members.

But every announcement also reminds me of the three announcements I didn't make.  One because we learned our child was sick before you get to "the point" where it's recommended that you tell the outside world.  Two because the pregnancies ended even earlier.

The one child I held in my arms, that I won't get to hold again this side of heaven.  The other two I never got to hold--I never even knew if they were boys or girls.

So the me that types, "congratulations," or the me who shows up smiling, gift-in-hand at your baby shower, is still the me who is triggered by memories, the me who wonders what might have been.  You know how I told Rashieme we were pregnant last October?

I pulled into the parking spot "Reserved for those with children" at the grocery store after picking him up from work one night.  He laughed, and asked me if I was pregnant, and kissed me--we were so happy.

And in January?  I ordered a "Baby Shark" onesie.  It read, "Due due due due due due September 2019."  It arrived in the mail the day after I miscarried--so rather than announcing a pregnancy to my husband, I came home from work early, crying, announcing instead that we were experiencing yet another loss.

More and more, I see women sharing their stories about their losses.  I think that is a really healthy and beautiful thing.  For every woman who does decide to share, there is someone or some couple out there who is more private--and that's okay, too--but maybe even for those who don't want to share, they can benefit from reaching out to the woman who does feel called to tell her story.  I'm encouraged by the frequency with which women have begun writing about miscarriage and infertility. It breaks down the stigma.  It reminds us that we're not alone.  And really, that is why I'm sharing these thoughts here--not because I do or don't want you to joke about pregnancy.  Not because I want you to feel badly for me.

But because there is power in our stories.

I've written about Jasmine a lot; I talk about it some.  I share some of that writing; other pieces are more personal.  Writing about it and talking about it reminds me that I had another daughter.  That her life mattered.  That it changed me (in a really powerful and positive way, actually).

I've written far less about our losses after Shay.  Having had a few months to think about them, I am grateful that God didn't decide I should carry another non-viable pregnancy to delivery--I don't know if I'm strong enough to go through that again.

They are still raw and painful losses, though they both happened even before the heartbeats could be heard.  After the first one, I burst into tears.  It didn't feel fair to me, that I should lose another pregnancy--not after burying a child.  It felt impossibly cruel.

And when it happened again?  I felt, upon discovering I was pregnant again, that I could make peace with that October loss.  That this must be the reason--that I wouldn't have been blessed with that new child, I couldn't have met that child, if not for the earlier loss--

But then, we lost that one, too.  And honestly, I just felt enraged.  I felt that my prayers had been answered and then, that answer had been snatched away.  I was at a loss.

I'm not angry, not anymore.  I still have moments where I feel the weight of those recent losses.  I still haven't made sense of it all--I'm not sure I ever will.  I'm not sure it's my job to.

But I do know that the more I've opened up and shared, the more stories I've heard in return.  We're not alone.  I'm not the only woman to have ever lost a child, and I'm not the only woman who has lost more than one, as gut-wrenching as that is.

I do know that I am blessed to have Kaliah and Shay.

I would like to have one more child, but as time moves on, I am becoming more at peace with whatever God has for me, still praying and believing that we might add to our family once more.  I don't know why we were chosen to go through so many hardships related to conceiving, nor could I guess why so many couples endure similar journeys.

I do know that I am choosing, one day at a time, to try to be better, rather than bitter.  To hold my girls a little tighter.  To take time for the little things.  To be honest about my grief and disappointment--with others, and especially with God.

I am not a perfect mother, anymore than I am a perfect anything else.  There are no perfect women, perfect wives, perfect teachers.  No perfect friends or daughters.  There are things I would do differently in this life, if I had the opportunity to do them over again.

But I will not live my life believing I am being punished for past mistakes.  Every new day is one that the Lord has made.  There is great adventure awaiting me around every corner, and like any good father, my God knows how to give good gifts to His children.

My losses are not some sort of Karmic punishment.  They do not mean I am undeserving of another child.  And whether or not I am blessed with another baby to call my own, I will live my life in wonder of the blessings I have received.

Whatever yours are, I encourage you to do the same.  Whatever hardships you face, I'd like to remind you that while they shape you, they, alone, do not define you.

Happy April Fool's Day.  Go play a lighthearted joke on somebody.  :)



From Easter, 2015. Top:  Ten-year-old Kaliah. Bottom:  Shaylin's announcment.

24

My apologies for the long hiatus.  This thing called the doc program began, and since then, well, I've found my time for writing endeavors limited, to say the least.

And then this other thing, a full-time summer semester with a full-time job in restaurant management happened, and I found that not only did I have no time for writing, I had no time for anything.

But classes are over now, and I have a special reason for writing today.

Some of you may know that this current pregnancy is actually my third, not my second.  Eight years ago, Rashieme and I lost our middle daughter, Jasmine Celine, to stillbirth.

I was 24 weeks pregnant.

This week, I am 24 weeks pregnant with Shaylin Meadow McFadden.

Shaylin means gift, and she truly lives up to her namesake.  Every day she flips around, kicks me, and reminds me that she is growing and alive.  She only sits still when I am working (and sometimes, not even then!).  All other hours of the day, in moments when I find time to sit or lay down, she is practicing gymnastics, reassuring me that not only is she still thriving--but that she is going to be a PROBLEM when she makes her entrance!

We could not be more happy or excited.

A pregnancy after a loss is still a bittersweet time, though.  It's been years, and I've found myself reliving painful memories.  Jasmine rarely moved, at least not to the point where I could feel it.  Strangers ask is this my first, and I usually answer, no, my second, even though that's not true.

I remember the day they told me her heart stopped beating.  I remember being shocked, even though I'd been told how this was going to end.

I remember the only day I held her.  It was her birthday, Friday the 13th.  That's a day I'm not a fan of, but not for the silly superstitious reasons.  We wrapped her in a soft pink blanket, the only thing I ever bought for her, and we baptized her, and said our goodbyes.

That experience isn't one I talk about or even write about a lot, because it's awkward for other people.  They don't know how to respond.  I respect that, and also, there is no use living in the past.

But Jasmine is also an important part of who I am.  She has strengthened my faith, and shown me how precious life and motherhood are.  She's made me appreciate even the irritating inconveniences of pregnancy.

God is constantly showing me how He hasn't forgotten Jasmine.  We found out, on all days, that we were having another girl on Jasmine's birthday.  I went to her grave that morning and brought her flowers and sat and spent some time missing her and thinking about her and talking to her.  I'd felt Shaylin kick before, but that morning, while I sat next to Jasmine's grave, was the first time I was sure it was more than fluttering.  It was like she was talking to her sister, too.  That afternoon, Rashieme, Kaliah, and I went for the ultrasound and found that we are being blessed with another daughter.

Shaylin will never take the place of Jasmine.  There's no way to know how our lives would be different if Kaliah's eight year old sister were with us now.  I wonder if she would like video games and Pokemon like Kaliah, or if she would be into cheer and gymnastics like I was, or something all together different.  I wonder if they would get along, Kaliah and Jasmine, or if they'd constantly argue like my brothers and I did.  Kaliah is blessed to finally have a sister here with her, but a two year age difference and a ten year gap are not the same.

Everything happens for a reason though, and I don't say that as a trite, one size fits all, look at the glass half-full mentality.  I say it because I believe God is in charge, and that nothing that has happened to us has been outside His control.  I believe Jasmine is in heaven, and I know--know--that I will finally meet her and see her smile one day.

So as I reach the point in this pregnancy where my other one ended, I am nothing but thankful.  Thankful for the new life I have inside me; thankful for my new life in Jesus Christ, and thankful for the new life I will one day share with all my daughters, and, God willing, maybe a son, too.

Pregnant with Shaylin Meadow McFadden.  Picture taken at 22 weeks, on my husband and I's anniversary.