natural weight loss during pregnancy
I wrote this on July 8th.
"The word "tradition" itself derives from the Latin tradere or traderer literally meaning to transmit, to hand over, to give for safekeeping. "
Today, it rained, then the sun came out. It rained again and once more, the sun decided to have the last act of the day, not much different than most days this month. But, July 8th is a day that will forever be noted on my calendar. It was the projected due date of my baby, Windland, that we lost a year and a half ago in a miscarriage. I wrote my heart about that time here and here.
I cried only once, maybe twice today. I realize that Ive come so far and grown so deeply. Ive grown in love, in pain, in joy, in compassion, in questioning, in peace, in empathy, in beauty, and in the raw realities of living. Ive lived in the darkest canyons of grief in the deepest ocean, craving water instead of air to fill my lungs and Ive been pulled up to the surface of the living, of light and oxygen and love. Cedar really was my rescuer. Hes been the sweetest of sweet joys that a soul could be, given to help comfort and heal. I cannot put into words the love and adoration that I feel towards this happy little boy. In the same tone though, there is a piece of my heart that will always be missing and aching. I made sure that today, I did something to remember my little love that breezed by our lives a year and a half ago.
Recently, one of my closest friends lost her baby in a miscarriage. It was a tragic and devastating loss. While in the process of grieving with her, I had a dream. I dont typically dream much. But, in this dream, I dreamed of a little girl with curls, like Kaels but a bit longer and lighter. She was around 2 years old, but was speaking more like a 5 year old. She was showing Cedar and Kael how to skip rocks on a creek bank. Almost being a little momma. All 3 of them were giggling. She turned around and smiled at me and I saw her face. She was mine. "Oh, youre my Windland!?" I said. She nodded and smiled, then went back to playing as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I woke up. I didnt want to wake up. Whether that was a real dream or not, it comforted my soul immensely.
Creating beauty in the mundane and seeing the good in front of me, instead of only the awful is a driving part of me. I like to think that this passion is in all of my children; a bit of my wild love for life and people, living and thriving in them. I live to celebrate and to love. So, to pass by today with only tears, didnt seem natural to me. I had to do something. I thought to myself, Windland was and is my child, a small spirit that I want to blow a kiss to. A kiss with love and maybe somehow an embrace. So, this afternoon as the boys played, I went outside and thought about the winds of love this baby created. My Windland wasnt a purposeless life. Theres something about making traditions, physically doing, saying or singing something that attaches the dreams, loves or aches of our heart to reality and something good, some kind of hope? I wanted Windland to have one. I needed to have one.
For the short time my baby was here, Windlands sweet breeze created beauty just by her presence. The wonder of winter turning into spring, heart break fading into love and disappointment evolving into hope is something I know. Cedar wouldnt have even been a possibility if I hadnt miscarried, seeing I got surprisingly pregnant with him 2 short weeks later. Cedar is my springtime, my love, my little hope that carries the gentle truth of redemption. Am I still sad? Yeah, I am. Can I imagine or think of life without my Cedar baby? Not even for a second. Thats the complicated reality of life and love, I suppose.
"Willow"
by: Songs of Water
We hung our harps on the willow tree, still the wind formed hands and plucked out its melodies.
Our hearts rejoiced as if it were a dream, when the seeds of our tears became a field of wheat.
Look what hes done, look what hes done for us. He turned our songless night into a symphony of praise.
http://www.reverbnation.com/songsofwater/song/5106298-willow
This was written by a friend of ours, who lost his best friend in an accident right before finding out he and his wife were pregnant with their first child. The first verse is my favorite: "We hung our harps on the willow trees, still the wind formed hands and plucked out its melodies." The first half of that line is referencing Psalm 137:2, when the Jewish nation was forced out of their land to live captive, pretty much as slaves, in the land of the then current super power. They had lost all heart, joy and hope. "Hanging up your harps" was like "throwing in the towel." They were done with expecting good. The grief and heartbreak was too much. The part saying, "Still the wind formed hands and plucked out its melodies..." Good lord. I listened to this song again, randomly after I had already named Windland and gotten pregnant with Cedar. I burst into tears when the words spilled over into my soul and the gently, haunting chorus filled up my car. Somehow, they were good tears. It comforted me. In some way, a song settled the confusion of my heart, as I was looking for a place to put my emotions. It gave word and tone to the meaning of my disillusioned state. My brain thinks in imagery so, it was the language I needed to hear. Even in the sadness, my little breeze played a melody. A perfect little song, named Cedar.
As I am sitting here, writing the thoughts of today, both of my boys are laughing and screaming as loud as they possibly can, as their daddy tickles and chases them around the living room. Cedar, the pure delight of my soul, goes from moods of happiness to frustration, as he realizes he cant run and jump like his big brother can, although hes walking. What? How did that happen? Kaels curls are a glowing crown of wild, in the early evening light, and I want to kiss his chubby cheeks a thousand times over. Im soaking up this sweet moment, as if it were the last time my ears would ever again be able to hear the sound of joy. Soaking in the moment has become a gift that has been strengthened in my heart. The art of clinging to the good, pausing and acknowledging the beauty that is in front of me has become my moment by moment practice. Telling my children that I love them is my mantra, holding them to my heart is my physical prayer. Life has taught and is teaching me this gift.
Today, Im remembering. Im remembering the joy of telling my best friends that I was pregnant, jumping around ChickFila like a crazy person. Im remembering the elation that I felt, when calling my friend Kristina in Florida, squealing on the phone and talking forever that night about this baby being redemption, after such a sad season. There was joy. Im remembering the look on Sams face and him instantly telling me girl names that he loved. I remember feeling Windlands goodness inside of my soul, at the kitchen sink and singing to her. I remember loving and dreaming. This is what Im remembering today.
Windland Sweetheart,
You were and still are a beautiful dream. Our dream... my dream.
I love you forever.
Momma
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