Whoosh Moments

I wrote the following snapshot a couple of months ago. I was 37 weeks pregnant and very large. I was pretty grumpy most of the time but I had a few instances that my husband likes to call “whoosh moments.” They are these tiny little breaths of time that are filled with so much joy and so much love that you feel your heart can’t handle much more so it might burst and whoosh around the room like a balloon. The story below is one of those whoosh moments.

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My two year old daughter leans in close to my bulging belly, wrinkling the corners of her little mouth like she does when she’s thinking intently.
“Baby?” she whispers ever so softly.
“Yes, baby Eli is still in there,” I reply, matching her volume level. I’m laying on my back on the couch in the living room. Baby Eli Augustus is due to arrive in just over a week. I’m pretty sure Amelia understands that a baby is in there but I don’t think she grasps what that really means yet. She doesn’t know yet that Mommy is going to be very tired for a while. She doesn’t know yet that we won’t have much uninterrupted Amelia time any more. She doesn’t know yet that our lives will never look the same again. She’s no longer an only child, she’s a big sister. How will she handle it? Will she be jealous? Will she be compassionate? Will she ask to send the baby back? As these thoughts race through my mind, Amelia places a kiss on my belly. Eli kicks hard at that exact moment, right where her lips are.
“ELI!” She throws her hands in the air and falls down around my belly to give her baby brother a hug. “Luh-uuuu-ve you!” She exclaims as she gives him a big squeeze and one more kiss.
My heart burst with joy. I didn’t know it possible to have this much love flooding my system all at once. I feel like I’ve been given the most precious gift imaginable. I know in my mind that many mothers have had multiple children and I understand that most of them must have felt a similar emotion at some point. But my heart can’t grasp the idea that others could have possibly experienced this. This feeling must be unique to me. It must be unique to this particular moment. It just has to be.
Then she’s up and running. The moment is gone and her focus is now on whether or not she can feed the cat a pretend apple. SPOILER ALERT–she cannot.
I am grieved that this particular breath of time has passed, I’ll never hold it again outside my own memory. I’m also grateful that it’s gone, though. It was precious and rare and that makes it beautiful. Eli gives me a little wiggle. I still have one more week with him inside my belly.

My Son

Today someone asked me how many children I had. I said two. I told her about Amelia, my two year old who is bright and funny and adorable, and I told her about Eli, my 7 week old who is starting to grin a little bit and sleeps really well at night. I felt a tiny pang of guilt for saying I only have two children. Truth is that I have four children and two are in heaven.

Often when someone asks how many kids I have I reply with “I have four kids. Amelia is 2 years old, I lost Leonard and Sam in miscarriages, and Eli is 7 weeks old.” There is so much silence about miscarriages and I don’t want to add to it. I want to be a voice that says you are not alone after loosing a child. Tomorrow will come after you’ve lost a child. I want to support women who have felt this pain and be a part of the movement, even if it’s a small part, to remove the silence. One way I do this is by saying I have four children. People usually pause for a moment when I reply this way, unsure of what to do next. Sometimes they offer condolences. Sometimes they ask questions. Sometimes they respond with their own story of loss. Usually, people respond by recognizing that I’m a regular person with a messy life just like everyone else. Every time I reply that I have four children, I help raise awareness about pregnancy and infant loss. And so I’ll continue to do it.

But I don’t always say I have four kids. Sometimes, I say I have two. Sometimes, I don’t want to be genuine and open and honest with anyone who asks. Sometimes, I want to be a regular person with a non-messy life. The problem is that regular people don’t have non-messy lives. They have messy lives because life, real life, is messy. It comes with tears and heartache and tragedy and loss. It comes with wild emotions and hot tempers. It also comes with joy and laughter and hope and romance and all sorts of wonderful things that are also pretty messy.

Tonight as I nursed my sweet Eli before bed, this painting caught my eye. It was a gift from a dear friend after I lost Sam. My conversation from earlier in the day came to mind as I looked between this painting and my sweet, breathing, living little boy. I am so grateful this little guy here in my arms. I sure do miss my little guys that have already gone on ahead, though. Tonight, I held Eli a little bit tighter. I kissed his forehead a moment longer. I have four children.

New Mom… Again

Go to sleep, kid. Seriously, it’s 2 a.m. You have eaten, you are dry, you are swaddled. You are quiet when I sing Victory in Jesus, but here’s the problem with that: I can’t sleep and sing at the same time. Also, I only know the chorus and about half the words to the verses but as soon as I look online to see the lyrics, you start to cry again. I don’t think you like the light from the phone screen. This isn’t working. You should sleep, my little three-week-old. Please, sleep. Sleep so that I can sleep, too.

I pick you up and hold you in my arms. Maybe I can rock you to sleep. You look up at me with those big brown eyes. My heart melts. My voice comforts you, so I’ll sing another chorus of Victory in Jesus. I don’t ever want you to grow up. Can you just please stay tiny? In two years, when you are the age your sister is now, you will likely wiggle away from me when I want to cuddle with you like this. You won’t want me to sing to you at night. You won’t want me to hold you close in the wee hours of the morning when you awake early. One day you will be able to feed yourself. You will be able to wipe your own bum. You will grow and learn and explore. You won’t need me as much any more. Little by little, you’ll gain your independence and then one day, all of a sudden, you’ll leave. You’ll be a grown-up. You’ll have your own life, start your own family, be a daddy. I’ll transition from Mommy to Grandma. My hair will turn gray. Your eyes will show exhaustion in the weeks after your child is born,  and I will think back to this very moment.

It’s 2 a.m. You are awake and I am singing, “I heard an old old story about a Savior came from glory, how He gave His life on Calvary to save a wretch like me. I heard about hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum then I repented of my sins and won the victory”

The baby weight still clings to me. I may never have a flat tummy again. There is an ugly scar that stretches across my abdomen. The bags under my eyes are so big you’d think I was packing for a weekend getaway. I am wearing pregnancy sweat pants and your daddy’s t-shirt. My clothes don’t fit yet. I am exhausted and I feel like crying, and I cannot wait for the day that you sleep through the night. It feels like I will have to wait an eternity for that day, although I know it is right around the corner. This stage is exhausting, yet I also wish I could hold onto this moment forever. I study your face, trying to imprint every little detail on my memory. Please, little one, please go to sleep.

Baby Day!

Check out this post from March when this pregnancy was new. Rejoice with me that a new little baby joins the Palermo family today!

Bravely Growing Family

Judy Ross is a brave mama who opened her heart and home to all her children, biological, adopted, and fostered.

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I don’t feel brave very often. I mean, I like to think that if the situation presented itself, that I would do something courageous, like saving a pedestrian from an oncoming car, or going into a burning building to save a child, however, life rarely presents us with chances like that.

Sometimes, though, bravery is born out of necessity. For instance, soon after my second son was born, I found out that I was pregnant again. I certainly didn’t feel brave, I mostly felt scared and overwhelmed. Then, I miscarried, and I felt guilt and shame. Partly because I hadn’t even gotten used to the idea of being pregnant and actually “wanting” that baby yet, and partly because I felt that I could have done “something” to prevent the miscarriage. Statistically, I couldn’t have, but still the feeling persisted, but, I had to go on with life and the boys that needed me.  God provided just enough bravery to get through the days. One at a time.

A couple of years later, my husband and I decided that we were done having children, and took certain measures to make sure that we were permanently done. But God had another plan for us.

Four years later, He began leading us toward adoption. As we searched and found out more information about adoption, it was clear that it was God’s plan for us. However, we weren’t brave enough. We were inundated with feelings of fear, anxiety, and inadequacy. So we quit.

That lasted three, long, miserable days. We certainly weren’t suddenly brave at the end of those days, but we were completely convicted that we needed to act despite our fear. He gave us just enough bravery and provision to get through that adoption. One step at a time. We were just brave enough to answer the questions of, “Why start over, now?” as our youngest was already nine and halfway out of the house. Just brave enough to admit that we didn’t have enough funding to get through each step. Just brave enough to not quit despite all of the roadblocks. Just brave enough to continue when the adoption process lasted a full year longer than anticipated. Just brave enough to get through the wait, no matter how long it took. And, of course, our beautiful Hannah was worth the wait.

Then God called us toward adoption again. Were we brave enough to take a chance? This time, we thought that we had it all together, and felt plenty brave. Our baby was due in just a short month, and we rushed to get it all together. Two weeks early, we got the call that our newest daughter was on the way! Keith was out of town, so I hurried, alone, to the hospital to be by birthmom’s side.  A few hours later, I held our sweet baby in my arms. She was perfect in every way, and it felt surreal as I held her. Then, life once again changed in an instant when the nurse took her from me only 20 minutes later. Forever. She went home with her birthmom, and I never saw her again. Needless to say, all feelings of bravery went out the window as I left the hospital with both my heart and arms aching for the daughter I had only known for a short time. But, God gave me enough bravery to go on. Just enough to get through the days of despair and grief.

Fast forward one more year. And one more try. Were we brave enough for foster to adopt? No. No way. Well, maybe. Ok, yes. Just brave enough to allow ourselves the ability to be hurt again for the chance to adopt. God gave us enough bravery to open our hearts to try again. But, were we brave enough to take a baby born addicted to drugs? Oh, the “what-ifs” cast plenty of fear in our hearts, but God made us brave enough in that moment to say, “Yes.” Five days later, we brought home a beautiful baby boy from the hospital. We were faced often with fear and anxiety as the parents would make contact, then fail to show up, only to make contact again. It was a gut-wrenching time wondering if he would be ours for a short time, a long time, or forever. But God gave us enough bravery to get through each court date, every call, and each update.

Nine months later, and we are on our way to adoption with just a little over a month to go. Was it easy? Did we feel brave and confident while we waited for the birth parents’ rights to be terminated? No. Do we still fear that in the next thirty days someone from his family could show up and petition the court for adoption? Absolutely. But God gives us just enough bravery to make it through. And regardless of the outcome in November, God will make us brave. Not excessively brave, that we will be able to say that we can sustain ourselves, but just brave enough to know that Our Father is all that we need.

The Pregnancy

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! That’s a baby in there! A BABY! That little bubble there, that’s a baby, ya’ll! Baby! Ahhh!

Okay, enough squealing. I’ll pause my extreme excitement long enough to get some thoughts written out to you.
Pregnancy is fun, ya’ll. It’s hard and exhausting and a little bit gross sometimes–whoever named is morning sickness probably didn’t understand the definition of the word “morning”–but oh so much fun. I’m having a blast thinking about names and planning room themes. A thousand questions are running through my mind every time I pause to think about it all! So much to think about and decide!

Psalm 127
1 Unless the Lord builds the house,
the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the guards stand watch in vain.
2 In vain you rise early and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
for he grants sleep to those he loves.
3 Children are a heritage from the Lord,
offspring a reward from him.
4 Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
are children born in one’s youth.
5 Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.
They will not be put to shame
when they contend with their opponents in court.

Oh, this passage. Unless the Lord is building, any labor I put forth is in vain. Unless the Lord is watching, any guarding I do is in vain. So, it’s not all on me? It’s not completely my responsibility to take care of absolutely everything? Well, whew! I can take a breath! It’s not my burden!

Notice the psalmist (Solomon, I believe) doesn’t mention not laboring or not guarding in response. The point is to make sure that we’re laboring toward what the Lord is building. The questions I’m working through are good. It’s good to hope and wonder and be excited. But I need to keep in mind that the Lord is the one setting this baby’s steps. I can make plans but, ultimately, the Lord is the Builder!

I found this passage because I was looking for a verse about children being a blessing. I don’t like to just take a verse out of context, though, so I always look at the whole passage before writing about it. Boy, I’m glad I did that this time. Verses 3-5 are great. Children are a heritage, a reward, a blessing. Children are something to be proud of. I’ve heard these verses many times before, which is why I went looking for them. But the first two verses in Psalm 127. Wow. They were exactly what I needed this afternoon.

Madagascar update: I had my second fundraiser on Saturday and I raised $78 with Jamberry! I am so excited to be able to go to Madagascar next summer. I can see now why the Lord put off my trip for a year. Twenty weeks pregnant would be difficult on a mission trip!

Ends of the earth, here I come!