Sometimes being a parent is gut-wrenching and harder than ever imagined. Sometimes it’s grand. My guts are exhausted and sore today, still recovering from a rough week.

My  baby had surgery last week. Granted, it was oral surgery, and my baby will be eight in a few weeks, but scalpels, sedation, stitches, and extractions are serious enough business in this house to liquefy my insides with worry.

Surprisingly, this story starts not long after Kiddo was born.  He had a little notch in his lip, like a small dent or scar, which was sometimes very noticeable and sometimes not.  Occasionally people would ask what he did to his lip — a fall? Toddling accident? Slip in the tub?

The answer was none of the above.

As his teeth came in there was a slight gap right behind the lip notch and a faint line on his gums. His pediatrician finally diagnosed it as a slight cleft lip, the result of an amniotic band. Nothing to worry about, he said, it could have been MUCH worse (a cleft palate), and he could refer us to a plastic surgeon to fix it up.

When I looked up the plastic surgeon’s websites, all I saw was ads for breast enlargement and face lifts. I decided to wait and see what happened as he grew. I made the right choice, and now it is barely noticeable. If he wants to undergo surgery for a faint scar someday, that will be his choice, but I was NOT about to put my toddler through unnecessary surgery.

Flash forward five or so years…

An x-ray during a routine dental cleaning reveals severe crowding on Kiddo’s top jaw with no room for an adult tooth to come down; we get an immediate referral to the Orthodontist. After $1000 we leave the ortho’s office with an appointment to get an expander put in his mouth and a referral to an Oral Surgeon: the panoramic x-ray showed  two extra teeth on his bottom jaw. These supernumerary teeth were crowded in together, like shark’s teeth.

And they would have to come out.

And get this: even though this surgery was the result of a birth defect, it is not covered by medical insurance. Yes, I called and begged and tried. I got some sympathy, but no coverage.

Our dental insurance would pay for part of the surgery, but not the $350 CAT scan x-ray the oral surgeon insisted upon, and, get this, NOT the anesthesia.  It is not considered “medically necessary” to knock out a 7-year-old when cutting open his mouth, digging and ripping out at least two teeth well below the gum line, and stitching him up. I disagreed. The surgeon did as well (and would not attempt the surgery without Kiddo being out cold) yet insurance said we had to cough up the $500.

Have I mentioned that I hate insurance companies?

I did my best to stay calm and optimistic around Kiddo in the time leading up to the surgery. He knew he was going to get a “sleepy shot” then wake up and it would all be over. He stayed pretty calm (partly because he was excited to miss two days of school). I was a wreck. I bought every soft food I could think of: five flavors of smoothie mix, a dozen soups, mashed potatoes, pudding, mac & cheese, ice cream,  apples sauce, yogurt.  I couldn’t sleep I was so riddled with worry, but I kept smiling in front of the patient.

The night before we gave him the prescribed Atavan, supposedly to make him foggy and not tense. They should have prescribed one for me.

The morning of surgery he was loopy and happily watching t.v.  I rubbed the Tergaderm cream on his inner elbows and tops of his hands, to numb the areas for before the “sleepy shot.” I gave him another Atavan.  He seemed fine — this was going too easy (for him) — then he started crying and pleading with us not to make him go.

We had to carry him to the car, and I sat in the back seat with him, attempting to distract him and wiping away his tears of fright.

Once in the office he sat curled in my lap like an over-sized infant until we were called back. The dental chair DID look scary. He started getting hysterical, begging us to take him home. We had to hold him down while they injected the IV. Then were escorted out. My heart broke.

After an hour of waiting, we were told the surgery went very well, and he was awake and ready for us. I expected a groggy boy. Instead I found a hysterical mess. I scooped him up and carried him to the car as he begged for water. His mouth was numb and the drugs were not agreeing with him. He couldn’t understand what was going on. My insides twisted like a dish towel watching his misery and confusion.

He was drugged  up, nauseous, and miserable until about six o’clock that day.  Then, as if some good witch waved her magic wand, my strong, funny little boy emerged from his fog.  He begged for some food and stories. He turned chatty and full of swollen smiles. I was able to exhale. He was going to be okay.

The tooth fairy got fleeced at our house that night. Five teeth netted Kiddo enough to buy a few Lego sets the next day. My fridge is still loaded with mushy foods he rejected, but that’s just fine.

Today he goes back to school. At the bus stop he started a heated game of tag, all smiles and full of energy. My baby is back. He will be fine.

And so will I.

Today, parenting will be grand, right?

Her name was Ava Grace, and she wasn’t meant to be…

The name was not definite— it could have been Mia or Sera or Julia or even Jack—but from the moment I felt her blooming within me, I imagined her every detail. Strawberry blond pigtails bounced as she giggled at tickly belly kisses; a smattering of inevitable freckles danced across her nose; dimpled hands grasped a pink blanket, her fingers working the silky fabric as she drifted of to sleep. She was radiant…and she was mine.

My vintage Barbies, Cabbage Patch Kids, and even an antique Betsy-Wetsy doll would decorate her nursery. Below her ruffled dresses, Band-aids would plaster her constantly scraped knees, for after she spent hours lost in magical storybook worlds, she’d tear through our garden searching for faireis hidden amidst the sunflower stalks and rose blooms.

She was real—the tangible, thriving child of my dreams—then she was gone.

Three times I let her slip away. My body failed her. My love wasn’t strong enough to bind her to me, to keep her alive. Somehow I just couldn’t make her be.  Though technically it was never my fault, my guilt is a scar that will never truly fade.

When you have one healthy, amazing child no one seems to understand that fortune may not fall on you again. An uncomfortable shrug and downcast eyes became my only response to the constant questioning about when we were going to provide our son with a sibling. Losses were brushed aside as savage words bit to the bitter core.

You already have one child—there’s no reason you can’t have more. It’s just not in God’s plan right now. There must have been something wrong with it. You don’t really want another mouth to feed, do you?  It’s for the best. God will give you another baby when you are ready.  It’s so early it’s not a big deal. It’s not like it was a “real” baby you had held or anything…

The wait consumed me each month. Days ticked by in a blur as I obsessed about recreating her, dreamed I was worthy of breathing life into her tiny cells. Fertility drugs sent me teetering to the edge. Prayers went unanswered. What little faith I once held was washed away in a tide of blood.

Constant failure beat me down until I could no longer withstand the jabs of frustration, the gut-punches of hearbreak and grief. I finally broke. A dull husk shivering on the bathroom floor was all that remained. I surrendered while my shattered spirit still had a chance to piece itself back together.

Life goes on, forever fluid as a river, at times flooding my heart with joy, yet occasionally still receding, leaving me brittle and barren. There will always be a lingering part of my soul adrift. A glimpse of a shy smile on a little girl in a crowd, graceful laughter carried in on the breeze—that could have been her.

In time, I chose to declare peace with the past so I could embrace my family’s future. I chose to find grace in the bounty of beautiful moments life granted me instead of lamenting what had been denied. Our threesome may not be all I had longed for, but it is complete, and it is enough.

Her name was Ava Grace, and her soul was not meant for this world.