Our Subway Baby (2020)
words by: Peter Mercurio
pictures by: Leo Espinosa
This picture book is a true story written from a father to his son to tell the story of how their family was formed. This short picture book is so inspiring and so beautiful. I love stories like this where fate and Life have such a clear path, even if it’s fully unexpected. Stories like this keep me believing in miracles.
Here’s one of many interviews.
In my post about my miscarriage, I touched on what pregnancy was like for me after my miscarriage. While I understand everyone’s experience is vastly different, my pregnancy after miscarriage was a huge emotional roller coaster. I think many people, including myself, thought that a positive pregnancy test after what we’d been through would be a ray of sunshine and hope. And while there were those moments, for sure, there were also many, many moments of worry and concern over this new baby’s journey.
Just four months into this pregnancy, I began leaking fluids and panicked. I prepared myself for the worst and how I would be able to handle another heartbreak. All turned out to be fine, thank goodness, but this was one of many moments when I braced myself for the worst. Even at the birth, our little sweetheart had shoulder dystocia, a cord wrapped around his neck, and an arm positioned around his neck as he made his entrance. When I was finally done birthing, I pulled myself up, saw he was a boy, and collapsed, still holding onto the fear that perhaps he hadn’t made it.
I felt that fragility about his life for many days and weeks and months after he was born, and it sucked. Of course, as a mama, I want to have faith in my kids and their journeys and this world I’ve helped bring them into. I want to trust in their strong bodies and their resilience. But sometimes that’s just hard to do. And because of my miscarriage, that was REALLY hard for me to do for a long time.
Today, our little man is running around the house, happy and crazy and loving and so very loved. He is very strong and healthy and loves to show us how fast he is. I’m still a mama who worries, probably more than most. But, that panicked feeling I used to carry as an undercurrent has finally subsided. And that is truly a blessing in and of itself.
One of the trickiest things I remember when I first got pregnant five months after the miscarriage was how to announce the news to my family. It felt so much more weighty than a typical announcement, and so this is the letter I wrote:
I’ve learned so much this year. What outwardly might sound like such a heart-breaking thing – a miscarriage – has actually left me with deep gratitude and so many opportunities for growth.
~I’ve learned our sweet spring baby signed on for a most courageous journey that helped and continues to help shape our lives.
~I’ve learned you can love a soul with all your being, even though you’ve never met.
~Despite some of my hesitations about Western medicine or hospitals, I’ve learned that the doctors, nurses, and staff I saw in June were Angels doing God’s work with skill, kindness, and compassion.
~And despite my extreme squeamishness about blood and needles, I’ve learned that whenever and wherever I can, I will be donating blood. I will always remember the feeling of most profound gratitude as I watched someone else’s blood enter my body and save my life.
~I’ve learned that many, many women and families have their own sad stories. Friends and acquaintances came out of the woodworks sharing their miscarriage experiences with me. There is no “safe zone” in pregnancy or in life. All you can do is breathe, love, have faith, and be present.
~Even though I used to skirt around other people’s tough topics, I’ve learned that many people really do want to talk about stuff. That’s all I’ve wanted to do. When other people are brave enough to ask how I am doing with everything, they don’t make me sad. They invite me to talk. To process. To heal.
~I’ve learned that once a woman reaches age 35, she will likely be bombarded with frightening medical stats and exhaustive risk lists if she so much as thinks the word, “pregnancy.”
~I’ve learned just how incredible our friends and families are. In a situation where other women may have regretted sharing their baby news early on, I was so grateful we had. The outpouring of love and support helped more than I can say.
~I’ve learned that (our daughter) is even stronger than the tough little cookie I had already known her to be. She stayed up all night in the ER this June with zero fussing or meltdowns, watching her mama during some very intense moments. She came through everything with an effortless and deep understanding of what our baby’s soul had signed on for. This very proud and loving Big Sister kissed my belly for months and months after the miscarriage to send the kisses to Baby in Heaven.
~I’ve learned that (my husband) is more supportive than I ever thought possible. He radiated calm and reassurance when I needed it, despite the panic he later admitted to feeling. He’s literally been a shoulder to cry on—loud, deep sobs I never knew existed. And all the while he’s here, listening, loving, and supporting what I need to work through, while processing his own stuff as well.
~I’ve learned that even though Baby was only here 10 1/2 weeks, Baby will be in our hearts forever. There’s no forgetting, no replacing.
~For many months, I viewed my experience as an example of powerlessness and weakness. I’ve learned now to start viewing it as quite the opposite. To suddenly lose our baby’s life and come so close to losing my own. To physically experience what I did and come through it. To take such an experience and look right at it and feel the sadness and loss and fear, instead of ignoring them…These are all examples of my body and soul’s strengths.
~I’ve learned that in the place I was fractured, my soul is growing back stronger.
I write all this so you know where I’m coming from…still processing, still healing, still a messy, wonderful, crazy mix of emotions and thoughts—sadness, relief, anxiety, gratitude, fear, confusion, comfort, faith, insecurity, hopefulness…
But the only one that really matters right now, the only one I can let win out right now is love. Love for so many things. Love for so many people, friends, and family. Love for (my husband) and (our daughter) and myself. Love for our sweet spring baby who will always be in our hearts…
…and Love for our new baby growing in my tummy now!
Will you join us in loving this new baby?
-estimated arrival July/August-
When I had my miscarriage, I scoured the Internet for articles and information. I wanted to read other people’s experiences and not feel so alone.
When I got pregnant after miscarriage, I did the same, but found surprisingly little. I wanted to post this for my past self and for anyone who might be helped by it, even a little bit. Sending out so much love.
Other posts you might be interested in:
I wouldn’t say I grew up fascinated with fairy tales the way some people are. I grew up with the basic stories and the Disney-fied versions of them. But, since becoming a mama, I’ve been very drawn to them. Mostly -honestly- because many of my parenting books stress their value so much. There’s also the Einstein quote floating around the Internet, which may or may not be accurate:
“If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.”
I’ve never aspired for the ‘genius’ child or anything like that, but I found this quote intriguing, even if it’s only vaguely related to something Einstein once said. And so, I made it a quest to make fairy tales a part of our lives. I read Bruno Bettelheim’s book early on (for my own reading), which has its own set of controversies. I own several other books about fairy tales, which I’ve skimmed on my own, but never quite read thoroughly. I tried to push through the uncomfortable, violent bits of well-known fairy tales, holding fast to the idea that these stories were of value to children and that if I just read them in a tone without drama, the kids would see these scenes that adults find gruesome as a symbolic release for unexplainable feelings.
But, it just never sat right with me. What’s more, the portrayal of women in these stories cannot be disregarded. Many of the females are portrayed as silent bystanders to the action, awaiting someone else (usually a male, albeit a male without much of his own story) to change their fate. In at least two well-known tales, the woman is kissed while unconscious, without any consent. And the women who are powerful in these stories are portrayed as evil, jealous, and heartless. Meanwhile, on behalf of awesome dads everywhere, I also must mention that dads are given pretty horrible treatment in these tales as well. They’re usually quivering and spineless in the power of the cruel new wives they’ve chosen and do little to stick up for their children. So… not exactly the messages I want to send to our kids.
As a parent, I DO understand fairy tales on a much different level than I ever had. The “Never stray from the path” message that sounded so limiting as a child or even as a young woman who was imagining myself being a super relaxed mom someday…Well, I have actually said, almost verbatim, several times since becoming a mom, “Stay on the path!” Locking my kids up in a tower to protect them from the harsh realities of the world? My pre-mama self would shudder at this, but–Yes!! That sounds fantastic! (As Nikki says in an episode of Trying – “I know that you were saying wrapping them up in bubble wrap as some sort of criticism, but, Yes, I think that sounds perfect.”) Kind, soft-spoken mothers passing away after childbirth and being replaced by loud, upset, “scary mommies?” Yes, sadly, that sounds familiar on some days too.
And I can see how kids might relate to these tales as well. We might be asking them to pick up a small pile of toys or get their clothes off the floor, and they might see themselves in a ‘Cinderella’-type situation, being asked to do impossible tasks. And I’m sure kids have felt they’ve been left out of going to parties or events that their parents or siblings attend, just like poor Cinderella. Before having kids, I thought the phrasing of wanting to ‘gobble’ them up was just bizarre, but I’ve said this more times than I can count. So, children in these stories hearing that an adult wants to eat them? Yes, that probably resonates. Kids feeling like they are being ‘poisoned’ by the food we make for dinner sometimes? Yup. I’m sure. Worlds where magic helps characters out of sticky situations, and good and evil are so very clear–all of this sounds like the makings of great stories for children.
But, the Disney-fied versions of these aren’t something we let the kids watch and the watered-down versions of these tales we come across in ultra-“cuddly” books don’t seem to hold much substance. So, do I stick by the tales of cutting off feet to fit what a prince wants and a stepmother asking to eat the heart of her stepchild? hmmmm…
So, I approach these cautiously. I want my kids to be familiar with these tales that are such a part of our culture, and frankly, feel so familiar to all of us in our beings. But, I think the written versions of these oral stories must also be taken in the context of the time they were published and who published them. The Grimm brothers collected versions of these stories from the people in their social circles in the early 1800s. They originally did not collect these as stories for children and later edited them to make them more ‘kid-appropriate.’ Some edits, as Marina Warner points out, changed the way the female was represented. In an early version of Rapunzel, for example, Mother Gothel finds out about the girl’s visits with the prince when Rapunzel is confused by her growing (pregnant) belly, implying she’s had relations with him. Instead of a lesson in the importance of sex education for youth though, the Grimm Brothers found this inappropriate, and had the witch find out about the prince when Rapunzel rather idiotically asks her why she’s so much heavier than him to pull up the tower. This makes Rapunzel seem rather daft instead of someone who never received a lesson in sex ed.
Hans Christian Andersen’s tales must also be put in the context of the time and his life. While I’m not as familiar with his tales, the big one that sticks out is Little Mermaid where the mermaid gives up her voice to live on land and be with the prince. As usual, the Disney version wasn’t faithful to the original where the mermaid was seeking immortality more than the love of a prince, but still. This tale was written in Andersen’s life when the man (who many guessed) he loved, was marrying a woman. I can see how he might have wished to live in a different world to be with the one he loved, only to watch his love marry another (which ultimately happens in the original fairy tale). Unfortunately, Disney versions are so engrained in many modern minds, it’s hard to disentangle these from the classic fairy tales and what they meant in the context of their time.
My newest quest is finding other spins on fairy tales. I’ve been a fan of a few of these for awhile, but I’m ready to expand my repertoire. This allows me to introduce the basics of these fairy tales to my kids the way the public at large knows them (sort of *see above), but also to show them that fairy tales are evolving stories. We don’t have to stick to the Grimm Brothers’ versions of these tales or Disney’s. Who’s to say that the beautiful renditions of these stories by current authors can’t be the tales we pass down? Fairy tales were meant to be stories that change with the times and the audience and the situation. For so long I was stuck on being faithful to the “original” fairy tales, when I failed to see that being true to fairy tales IS to let them live and breathe and change. The tales we tell our children should be ones that sit right with us. (We aren’t talking fables here, that hit us over the head with a lesson (which I really don’t mind in their own genre), but tales that let us explore emotions and feelings in a safe place.). Fairy tales belong to all of us. Not only is it our right to make them our own as we pass them onto the next generation, it’s our obligation.
Articles:
Reasons Parents Shouldn’t Let Their Children Watch Disney
I went to go get the mail yesterday. And, I don’t know if it was the excitement of sneaking out of the house without kids following me or perhaps just pure clumsiness, but I fell. We have one step on our front stoop. One. And I completely missed said-step and fell. The decorative rocks of the path scraped up my knees and the palms of my hands. I was bleeding and sobbing. (I never think of myself as someone who stores emotions, and, if you know me, you’d wonder how I have any left. But every time I get hurt, a huge rush of emotions come pouring out along with the hurt and surprise of it all.)
ANYway. So, I’m sitting on the ground outside, crying because I’m hurt. Crying because none of our neighbors are out and we don’t know any of them and none of them would even care if I was hurt anyway. – You get the picture. I’m feeling awfully sorry for myself. But even as my tears are streaming down and blood is dripping onto my clothes, I’m simultaneously thinking:
Ahhhh, this is such a lovely little break. I’m outside. Nobody knows I’m here. Nobody is asking me anything. It’s completely quiet (except for my own sobs, of course).
So, I quieted down and stayed a little longer. I got as comfortable as I could, given my injuries, and sat and enjoyed the peace and the breeze and the break. What an unexpected, wonderful gift of time. Almost, dare I say, like a mini-vacation.
These are the stories that need to be told in high school sex-ed programs, because moments like these – well, that’s parenting. (Or, rather, what a break from parenting looks like.)
(*My husband was inside with the kids, so I wasn’t being completely irresponsible by taking so much time for myself. Maybe next time I fall, we could get a babysitter and have ourselves a date!)
There are thousands of books and articles about de-cluttering. Yes, I know it’s better for our mental health and energy levels to live in a clutter-free environment. I know not everyone is on board with this “clutter-free” idea, but I happen to fully agree. It’s just…
It’s not in my natural instinct, for one. Which, granted, is no excuse. But I also realize that, especially as a parent, I’m constantly faced with choices. And as nice as a clutter-free, tidy home might sound, it just never ranks as a top priority for me. So, I can either stress and fight against the chaos that is our home, or I can step over the clutter on the floor and live my life. And, lately, I’m really trying for the latter.
I don’t like my kids sitting in front of a TV. I borderline loathe it. I’ve turned to it more this past year than I would care to admit to myself. But when it comes to daily routine, I can either plop them in front of a screen while I tidy or spend that time letting them play (and, let’s face it, make more mess). Yes, I know the ever-present idea that they should be involved in the clean-up. I agree…to a point. I once went with my daughter to a playdate when we were new to an area, and the mom spent the. entire. time. on the kids’ cases to clean up. She followed each of their activities madly putting things away, instead of just letting them enjoy their time and letting us sit and get to know each other. We easily could have cleaned up before leaving. It was stressful and awkward, and it made me really happy for our messy home.
I believe kids’ jobs are to play. I think many adults cling to an idea that if their three-year old doesn’t clean up his every mess that he will become some irresponsible, slob of an adult. My kids do help to an extent, but they’re kids. Not mini adults. And frankly, if I don’t want to be tidying, why spend my time nagging my kids to do so? My kids are also highly creative. With homeschool and, apparently, parents who don’t need a Pinterest-perfect home, it’s game-on for creative projects. There are always bits of paper everywhere and elaborate constructions of toys. There are usually pillows and blankets dragged out for forts or boats or whatever make-believe play has struck their fancy.
At nighttime, I’d rather snuggle them to sleep with stories than close the door and participate in the cruel and antiquated “cry it out” mentality, regardless of their ages. I remember how frightening nighttime could be for me, even as an older kiddo. I want our kids to feel safe and comforted. To me, this is part of the job. Sure, it sucks sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. So, instead of doing a quick evening tidy, I’m in our family bed cuddling and telling stories. Again, tidying takes a backseat.
And then there’s me. I’d much rather spend my “free” time (Ha!) sewing or creating something (or typing this) than tidying up. It’s just not high on my priority scale. The result sounds nice, but… Nah. And maybe this makes me lazy or a procrastinator. But, honestly, the stuff will eventually get picked up. It’s not like the kids will be teens and we’ll be stepping over these same piles of stuff that are here now. (No, we’ll have new piles of stuff by then, of course!)
I also have this environmental weakness for always wanting to find a creative re-use for an item. This is something that is never covered in de-cluttering manuals–The Obsessive Environmentalist. So, at any given time, our cupboards have old toothpaste caps and outgrown baby socks and empty floss containers and old vitamin bottles, and a huge array of other miscellany. (Please tell me I’m not the only one who does this!)
And, oh, the kids’ artwork! When we had to evacuate last year for a fire, this was the top thing on my mind. And even though I’ve tried to take photos of their creations, and I realize it’s about the process mainly at this stage, I still value these far too much to just recycle them. And my kids create a LOT of art. And a lot of awkwardly-shaped art. It’s part of what comes from the flexible days of homeschool and the lack of directed projects. I have buckets and places for these, but that doesn’t stop them from creeping all over the house. Ah, well. Another winner over the tidy house.
Obviously this is something I could rattle on about for awhile–mainly, I’m sure, in an attempt to convince myself it’s OK to be living in a messy house. But with so many picture-perfect homes out there covering the Internet, it’s important for us chaotic, messy homes to stick together and realize a clutter-free life ain’t everything. If a cluttered desk is a cluttered mind, then what the heck is an empty one?*
*Arguably, many Zen-type followers may be hoping for a clear and “empty” mind, and I applaud that. But, at this stage of life, I’ll take my lot of ideas and thoughts, Thank you.