Expectations

Written 7 Febraruy 2007:

I was going to stay at home from work. I was going to breastfeed, even if it was difficult. I was going to make a mobile that would stimulate her senses. I was going to take one million photos a day of her. I was going to sing to her. I was going to dance with her in the kitchen. I was going to run with her in the stroller. I was going to be with her the first time she saw the world. I was going to be with her the first time she went outside to feel the wind. I was going to use cloth diapers so she wouldn't get rashes. I was going to make baby food from scratch. I was going to be overwhelmingly tired. I was going to nap when she napped. I was going to gaze into her eyes. I was going to cry with the difficulties of motherhood. I was going to talk with Kat, Leigh, and Cindy about their babies and hardships. I was going to bring her to Liv's for Christmas festivities. I was going to have 'family cuddle time' with her, Brian, and the dogs. I was going to read books to her before she could comprehend. I was going to shower her with love even when I was tired and frustrated. I was going to have trouble putting my career on the back burner. I was going to be constantly doing laundry. I was going to give her as much physical contact as she needed. I was going to go back to work after three months, only part time. I was going to get her girly clothes. I was going to keep writing in the journal I started for her. I was going to eat well so my milk would be nutritious. I was going to read mothering magazines. I was going to love her. I was going to have my life be her life and her life be my life. I was going to have a daughter and I was going to be a mother. I was going to have a family. I was going to receive cards and presents for her. I was going to introduce her to friends and family. I was going to have a full house of visitors cooing over her. I was going to be annoyed at Brian's mother visiting too often. I was going to have the first baby of our friends. I was going to persevere through hard times. I was going to try my best. I was going to be over-protective. I was going to bring life to the world. I was going to meet the child I have dreamt of and felt for my entire life.

But instead- I got devastation, shock, and pain. I brought death to our family. I got cards of condolences. I got a house filled with visitors in tears. I got an empty baby's room. I got a hazy image of her face. I only got to hold her lifeless body for a moment. I got to say goodbye before I said hello. I got death. I got to go back to work. I got to run, eat, and sing alone. I got to introduce no one to anyone. I got a memorial ceremony. I got a black box partially full of ashes. I got clothes, sheets, and diapers that will never be used. I got a flabby stretched out stomach with no child to show for it. I got blood on my feet and a popped eye vessel with no child to show for it. I got to sleep whenever I wanted. I got a puppy so I would have someone to nurture. I got emptiness. I got death in a place that was to bring life. I got a handful of motionless pictures. I got to kiss her once. I got flowers. I got to read aloud with no one to listen. I got to be a mother with a lost child. I got attention instead of her. I got anger, causing fights with Brian and kicking and screaming. I got my trust betrayed. I got a wide uncertain future again. I got stuck between maidenhood and motherhood. I got a star named after her- starry Ari. I got blood stained clothes. I made a Mobil for myself of butterflies, playfully swinging above my head. I got a teddy bear and blanket that were suppose to be hers. I cherish these things. I cherish her.

She was Still Born

After Ari died I remember a thought hitting me like a ghost train- like a punch in the stomach or maybe the heart. Ari died inside my body; inside my womb- my body was a place of death; a grave site. I felt like my womb was black, turned to cold stone. This place in my body was meant to create life, not take it away. Such weight I felt from this fact.

But then it was in almost an instant that I was and still am freed from this thought. Yes, Ari died inside me- but she was also created inside me and lived her entire life within me. A complete cycle of birth and death took place inside my body- a feat comparable to only Planet Earth. I remember the above quote, which was posted in my house during pregnancy, and cherish the ways that Ari experienced the delights of life through me. I played Mozart to her, even before the books say she could hear. I read my favorite books to her before bed, I sang her lullabies, I fed her nutritious, nourishing foods. We swam and floated almost daily throughout the summer. It is true also that Ari experienced the lows of life- the stress of her two parents adjusting into parenthood, exhausting days of fieldwork, and the occasional junk food. My motherhood began at conception, not at birth.

Despite the fact she never physically touched the world beyond the confines of my skin, she still came into existence, came into being, joined our family, touched and was touched by the energy of life. Arianna was declared stillborn on December 2nd, but she was still born long before.

Sidewalk

Brian had Ari's name engraved on a block outside the Art's Center in Jackson Hole and showed it to me yesterday as a surprise. I am reminded of how beautiful and meaningful her name is to me. The name Arianna has been a favorite for a while but what jumped it to the #1 slot was a children's book called "The Princess on the Nut or the Curious Courtship of the Son of the Princess on the Pea". It begins as a traditional fairy tale, until Princess Arianna takes the scene. She is adventurous, independent, modest, charismatic, and forthright; all things we wanted our little daughter to be. Ari's middle name, Lillian, is in honor of Brian's grandmother who raised him. She is loving, wise, energetic, joyful, and brave; also things we wanted our little daughter to be. Ari's second middle name is Goodale, after my family, and her last name is Bellinger, after Brian's family. Her name holds our family heritage, holds meaning, and holds honor- it is perfect for her.

The Many Forms

Sunday morning I wake up and sing myself a little song: happy mother's day to me, happy mother's day to me. Of all my 23 years celebrating this holiday, I am now on the receiving end, as well as the giving end. I don't wake to breakfast in bed made by my husband. I don't wake to marker stained hands passing me homemade cards. I don't wake to a full family cuddle. No, this is no catalogue snap shot; not the quintessential all-American holiday, at least for my family.

Today I learn that parenthood comes in many forms. For some, a young woman marries her Mexican lover with three children. For others, a man adopts the child of his x-fiancé whose father is a Panamanian living in Nicaragua. Perhaps for others still, a woman is artificially inseminated and raises her children with another woman. For me, my child dies inside me days before her expected entrance. We, and countless others, redefine motherhood daily with courage and creativity. We do so because it is our only reality. We do so because love requires this of us.

Today I learn to reshape my preconceptions of motherhood. I try to move beyond, yes still with sadness and yearning, baby clothes and the eyes of family members as they play with her. I move beyond what I didn't get and focus on what I do have. I have a child who brings beauty to the world in ways I could have never imagined. I have a loving boyfriend who shares in our parenthood. I have a child who teaches and challenges me. I have a child who brings forth the deepest of my emotions; requires the most and best of me. I cannot watch her learn to crawl, I cannot hear her giggles, I cannot smell her baby blond hair. But I can feel her. And I do. Arianna and I are growing together and bonding closer and with more clarity in tangible ways. My motherhood and Ari's daughterhood are strong enough to overcome death. Our love is great enough to wade through the shock and sorrow to refind what is still ours. We are strong enough that nothing can undue what already was. How could this be otherwise?

I do not feel sad today because I am a mother, unequivocally, and Ari is my daughter, irrevocably.

May 2nd

Brian and I have started a monthly ritual of lighting candles on the day of Arianna's birth and death. The night had settled in on May 2nd, five months after her birthday. Brian was reading in bed when I reminded him of the date. He told me he didn't want to light candles and didn't even like the idea anymore. With some disappointment, I set everything up in small sunroom/entryway with three large second-story windows. Sitting alone in the dim room, I sat and listened to the night. I covered myself in her small blankets, cuddled her teddy bear named Barley, and held her ashes. I told her how much I love and miss her and to help me and Brian get through.

The silence was soon interrupted by a mounting rainstorm that sprung to its peak intensity in no time. First, the rain drops pelted the windowpanes. Then the winds joined, making the house creek and the chimes spin. I was sitting happily, safe amidst this squall, thinking of my daughter adventuring around the universe. Just at the climax, the pressure changed and forced open the door leading to the rest of the house. With a bang against the wall, the light inundated the room, illuminating the wet windows, pointing my reflection back to me. I was pressed back in my chair from butterflies fluttering through my gut. Without a thought, I called Brian- come quickly, I yelled. In a hop, he was there to ride out the storm along with me. I passed Barley to him for support and held his hand. The storm peaked and faded, and with one last gust, petered out.

I can't help but think that Ari had a little hand in this storm- helping Brian to connect with her and bringing him and I together. Be it Ari or otherwise, that’s what it did.

Thanks Ari!