Second Guessing

Today was an extraordinarily difficult day with Caroline. She is my firstborn, so it's the first time I'm raising a three-year-old. And my only experience raising a three-year-old is colored by this particular three-year-old losing her brother.

I was really excited about today, and so was Caroline. We met good friends at the puppet theater and then had lunch at Pita Jungle. We all had fun, and everything went smoothly. Until, I kid you not, we all split up to go home and were out of each other's sight. Actually, I think Caroline might have gone home with our friends, and Caroline's defiant twin came with us.

Fortunately for Caroline (and anyone reading whose eyes glaze over at specific, detailed descriptions of other children's behavior), I'll spare the details. I will just say that an epic battle of the wills went down, and everyone lost.

This is becoming a daily occurrence. Friends with older children have always said that three is more difficult than two. Caroline's behavior has definitely changed since Weston died. But I don't know if it's normal developmental three-year-old behavior or acting on her grief, or a crazy hybrid of both.

Hence, the second guessing. In addition to the above, Caroline was never raised by two parents who lost a child until six months ago. Everything about me has changed, including my parenting. Are things difficult for her because her brother died? Because her parents lost a son? Because she is three? I don't know, but, like any other American parent, I'm wondering if it's my fault. And worried that, if it is my fault, that I am irreparably screwing her up. I should just convert her college fund to a therapy fund. Or, just require that she major in psychology. (Yeah, choose my child's college major for her; there's some more healthy parenting.)

My feelings started catching up to me this afternoon. I worked on my piece for the MISS Foundation newsletter (that I talked about here), and it just opened the floodgates. Caroline actually wanted to hang out with me after her nap, so I couldn't just sit around and cry. It has been a long time since emotion over losing Weston has affected one-on-one time with Caroline. Usually I am able to keep myself under control until naptime, bedtime, or when Shannon is at home and I can go in the other room (or I cry in the car when she can't see my face). It took EVERYTHING in my power to get up and play with her. I was able to talk her into taking a walk around the block in her stroller. The fresh air helped us both.

**Please note that I am not suggesting that it is better to hide emotion from young children. I actually believe doing so is very unhealthy. Even very young children are much smarter and much more perceptive than we think; they know something is wrong, even if we try to hide it. In my humble opinion, children need to know that it is acceptable to cry and have emotions. Displays of emotion can provide opportunities to talk about feelings. But, it depends on the individual child and on the situation. Caroline is VERY sensitive; seeing me very upset always makes her sad. Today was so difficult that I just wanted us to have fun together.

I had to cancel last week's counseling appointment, so tomorrow's appointment will be the first in two weeks. And tomorrow night I will go to my first support group in well over a month. It's time. I don't realize how much I need those two outlets until I go without them for a while.

Weston would be seven months old tomorrow. If he had been born on time, he would be about 3 1/2 months old. He and Caroline look so much alike.

Caroline at birth:

Weston in death:

And, the sad juxtaposition of the two previous photos and their captions is duly noted, thank you. Anyway, I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say that infant Weston would have looked like infant Caroline. So, maybe Weston would look similar to this right now (Caroline at 3 months):

I'm missing him so much right now. I can't look at these pictures without crying. Second guessing everything, not just my parenting, is yet another cruel aspect of losing a child. I'm not able to end on a hopeful or profound note tonight. Just another day in the life.