A High-Risk Pregnancy

I'm not sure why, but up until now I haven't really entirely realized that my pregnancy is high-risk.
I've been under the impression that while Tikva is going to have some really big challenges when she is born, my pregnancy while I'm carrying her is pretty much a normal one.
While I've used the term high-risk at times to describe my pregnancy, I don't know that I've really quite believed it.
But now I am realizing that because of Tikva's challenges, my pregnancy is automatically high-risk.
And because of the CDH, other things are at play that cause this risk.

I am 34 weeks pregnant today, and it has been 13 weeks and a day since the ultrasound that revealed the CDH.
13 weeks is exactly a quarter of a year, so even though it doesn't sound like that long, it actually is a good chunk of time.
A lot has happened in the past quarter; Israel feels like a blur of a memory most of the time, like a dream.

At my OB-GYN appointment yesterday, my belly measured as if I were 38 weeks pregnant.
Today's ultrasound revealed that Tikva is 5 pounds now, and that I still have a lot of excess amniotic fluid.
The best part of the ultrasound: seeing Tikva's mouth move as she swallowed.
For the past two days I've had what felt like mild contractions in the lower right part of my abdomen.
I returned for a second day of antenatal testing today to make sure it is nothing to worry about.
Fortunately, the twinges didn't qualify as official contractions, but more like "irritability" of the uterus muscle in just that part of my belly.
Fortunately, the rest of my uterus was not contracting, and my cervix is not opening, and Tikva's head isn't pushing down against anything yet.

Speaking of Tikva, she has been WIGGLY the past few days.
She was head down, then head up, then head down again.
I've felt a ton of full-body movement inside me, sometimes even movement that gives me a cramp.
So it's no surprise that her movement, combined with the weight of all that extra fluid and 5 pounds of baby, might be causing my uterus to contract a little.
But the doctor gave Dave and me the go-ahead to go away for the weekend as we've planned.

For 2.5 days it'll be just the two of us in a house in nature about 2 hours up the coast.
Dahlia gets to spend the weekend with almost all of her family over those few days.
I am looking forward to the extra sleep, time to just sit and read, and most especially time with my sweetie.
Time for those precious things like just being able to look into each other's eyes for more than 30 seconds.
For conversations that don't have to happen at the end of a long day when both of us are tired.
Time to connect with the spirit of Tikva in a new way, just the three of us.
Time to ground and energize for all that is ahead.

Tonight when I got home from the hours at UCSF - where Dahlia accompanied me patiently for one of two appointments, followed by gelato for the two of us - my weekly email was waiting for me from BabyCenter.com.
I clicked around on some of the links and read about possibilities and concerns that have come up for me lately: preterm contractions, preterm labor, polyhydramnios (excess amniotic fluid), umbilical cord prolapse, placental abruption.
I read about all these things that can be caused by an excessively large uterus (caused in turn in my case by all that extra fluid) and that's when it really hit me: I am indeed having a high-risk pregnancy.

And something that has kept coming back to me the past few days: My conviction that it is important for Tikva to stay inside me as long as possible.
This deep intuitive belief was the primary thing that guided my decision NOT to have the intrauterine surgery where they would have blocked Tikva's trachea in the hope of growing her lungs - when they mentioned the guaranteed risk of preterm labor, a very loud voice told me that would not be good for my baby.
So I have been speaking to Tikva the past few days, telling her it is not time for her to come out yet.
And speaking to my body, reminding my body that I am only 34 weeks pregnant and that it is important to keep Tikva safe and protected and growing inside me for the next 6 weeks.
37 weeks is considered term for a normal baby - so the longer the better for my Tikva.

I have liked my encounters with the doctors at UCSF lately, especially the regular perinatologist I usually see and the one I saw today during my ultrasound, who was familiar with me because she's part of the amazing team that meets weekly to discuss all the high-risk pregnancies and babies with anomalies.
I keep being reminded more and more that Tikva and I are being truly held by this amazing team, and that is why they are monitoring us so closely, and why I have so many appointments each week.
They patiently answer all my questions, even when I repeat myself to get a deeper understanding of something.
They really want the best for us, and they want Tikva to make it.

And I keep remembering this:
THIS is exactly why we came back from Israel.
THIS is exactly what we are here for.
THIS is what I am doing right now.
THIS is my purpose and my journey, and Tikva's.

My prayer now is for everything to continue going smoothly, and for Tikva to remain safe and growing and well inside me until her due date.
That she and my body know when it is time for her to come out, so that I can go into labor naturally and at the right time.
That nothing gets in the way of a smooth natural vaginal labor, in spite of all that excess fluid and the possible risks.
That I am able to push her out easily and safely after laboring in a comfortable room at UCSF.
That my sweet baby girl remains safe and well and able to breathe enough when she comes out, and the doctors are able to stabilize her easily and quickly for her work ahead.
And that she continues to develop strength and embrace the energy all around her for a smooth and complete recovery from this initial challenge.
Held by God all along the way and knowing that she is perfect exactly as she is, no matter how everything unfolds.

Kid Fears

Some days I seem to wake up at the end of my rope.
Or it doesn't take me long to get there.


Some days I can't seem to stop the tears from flowing.
So I let them flow.
Some days I am impatient and irritable.
On those days I could probably be more forgiving and less hard on myself.
Some days things don't feel like they are flowing.
On those days I have to just surrender completely and ask for help.
I'm gaining a lot of experience in asking for help - from God, from Dave, from family and friends.

Most days lately I feel reclusive and not very social.
My energy for conversation is limited, and usually I only feel like talking to all of three people in my life.
I've marveled that this is the first really hard life challenge during which I haven't sought the help of a therapist.
Mostly it's because I don't feel like talking; talking feels tiring.
So I write, and when I do need to talk, my sweet patient present husband is there.
And my sister and a few very close friends.

I so appreciate all who reach out to me, check in.
Thank you for understanding my limitations in this time.

Fear is present in our house.
I can't speak for Dave, who seems to encounter fear much differently than me.
But I would venture to say that Dahlia's emotional make-up is similar to mine.
She has been waking up several times a night for several weeks now, telling us, "I'm scared."
She can't say exactly what it is she's scared of, but she is aware of every bump and sound in the night, every glimmer of light or movement, every little feeling in her body.
The movement in our house when the street car goes by.
The distant sound of the fog horn out at sea.
The orange lit light switch in the foyer.
Static from the turned off TV.

I can relate to feeling like my nerve endings are right at the surface, feeling everything, unable to turn off even during sleep.
And she is having a lot of dreams, as am I, as is Dave.

In the middle of the night when we've been woken up by our frightened child one too many times, Dave and I are definitely not at our most patient or compassionate.
But we need to be.
Otherwise it becomes a battle of wills, and Dahlia's will is strong and unrelenting.
She is truly scared, and she does not want to go back to sleep in her room, alone.
She wants to come in our bed and be in the safety of the warmth of our bodies around her.
I really can't blame her.
And I recognize that as long as that need is not met, she is going to continue having it, and feeling fear.
So for her tired parents, it's time to surrender to the kicks (she loves to kick Dave in her sleep) or waking up with a cramp in my neck or my side from trying to sleep with my huge belly, an aching back, and a four year old nuzzling up to me, wanting to share my big maternity pillow.
It's really the only way any of us is going to get any rest, and we definitely need our rest.
And it's what our child needs, which makes it what our family needs.

This morning I suggested we switch Dahlia's furniture around, changing up the energy and perhaps refining the feng shui at the same time.
Now her bed touches the wall of our bedroom, and perhaps that will help.
If nothing else, it might help her psychologically to feel a little closer to us during those first hours of the night when she is willing to at least start by sleeping in her bed.
I also opened the windows in both bedrooms to clear out the angry, frustrated, fearful energy of last night, and let in the crisp warm cleansing air of the ocean.

Now Dahlia is at school, Dave is at work, and the house is quiet.
I feel tired, and my back is already hurting.

Thankfully, I have no UCSF appointments today - they are getting tiring and more plentiful now that I have weekly antenatal testing along with bi-weekly OB appointments and monthly ultrasounds.
And they always keep me waiting, sometimes up to an hour - last time I was there I let them know that I felt like my time wasn't being valued, and that there is no reason it shouldn't be considered as valuable as the doctor's.
Rest assured I will keep reminding them of that, even if it doesn't make a difference.
I've had good experiences there overall, appreciate all the care they are giving Tikva and me, and recognize that this is the main reason we changed our lives to return to SF.
Yet I still find the hierarchy of doctor to patient challenging, and a big flaw in our medical system.

I am feeling the "shoulds" pulling me to do work for my psychology class, which I really want to finish before Tikva arrives.
It feels like a huge pain in my tush, something I have about 0% motivation to do.
But I am more than halfway through, and I've already put a lot of work into it.
It just would feel stupid to not finish it - in the long run I know I'll be glad I did.
Life isn't going to get any easier - in 36 years I've learned that it's more of an ebb and flow than a "get through the hard stuff so you can enjoy the easy stuff."
If I do continue working towards nursing school, it's unlikely that doing so will be easier later than it is now.
So I might as well finish the class and be one class closer to doing so.
But boy, I really have no juice for it at all.
What I really want to do is go back to sleep for a few hours and rest my hard working back.

At one point last night, Dahlia said, "I'm scared" for the millionth time and I just started crying and couldn't stop.
It was as if she had said it enough times to truly express all the fears I am feeling.
All the fears all around her that she must be internalizing, along with her own fears.
I wanted to cry out, "I'm scared too. So scared."
I flashed on the night Dahlia was born, just a few hours after I had pushed her out, when we brought her home from the hospital and the three of us were lying in bed.
I looked at this tiny little thing I had carried inside me for 9.5 months and thought, "I will do anything for you, anything, always."
Thinking about that moment last night, realizing that I was not living up to my word in that moment of frustration, I just couldn't stop crying.
And I thought of Tikva, and imagined the moment we will be able to bring her home into our bed.
Waves of fear came through me, prayers that we will get to live that moment.
Visions of moving Dahlia's mattress into our room so that all four of us can sleep together, next to each other.
Forever, if that's what these two girls need.

I will do anything for you, anything, always.

God, it's so unbelievably terrifying to think that there really is no way I will always be able to protect my children.
Already, so much of what Tikva will need is completely out of my hands.
As long as she is inside me, I can do my best to protect her - breathe for her, eat good food for her, take in fresh air for her.
Beyond that - and with Dahlia too - the most I can know that I will always be able to do is love them, unconditionally.
I can't even promise that I will always be patient, always be calm, always be 100% focused and present.
But I can try my best and acknowledge, even to them, my humanity.
I can feel comfortable saying I'm sorry to them when I make a mistake.
I can let go of the idea that I can parent perfectly, always.

I can drop into the surrender of being held - as I reminded Dahlia last night - in God's palm.

Belly Update

I am almost 33 weeks pregnant and my belly continues to be quite large and heavy.
Lots of amniotic fluid continues to surround Tikva, who wiggles happily within.
Here are some photos of me from this past weekend - 32 weeks pregnant.
I love the ones with Dahlia.

Psychology

From my psychology textbook (yes, I am still working on my online class, which will be wrapped up before Tikva's arrival):

"A recent study found that traits of HOPE, VITALITY, GRATITUDE, LOVE and CURIOSITY are strongly associated with LIFE SATISFACTION."

We continue on our journey of wonder and opening...

Blinks

Dahlia asked me this question last night as we were shnugling before bed:

"Mommy, why are they so quiet?"

"Why are what so quiet, sweetie?" I asked.

"Blinks," she said.

I replied, "I don't really know."

She then said without any doubt, "Because eyes are soft."

Wise child...

Life Goes On...

Aah, the joys of parenthood.
If there is one thing I am learning through this time in my life, it's that life always goes on.
Just because big things, hard things, challenging things are happening, it doesn't mean that everything else stops being business as usual.

The night we had the first ultrasound that told us Tikva has CDH, we came home around 9pm and had to bake a cake for Dahlia's birthday celebration at her preschool.
I could barely summon up the energy, so the amazing PapaDave baked a cake and made frosting, and I came in to decorate it with chocolate chips at the end.
Life goes on.

Then about a week and a half later, as we were beginning the process of wrapping things up and packing in Israel, Dahlia got the flu and was home from school for a few days.
She followed us from room to room as we packed things up, dozing off on the beds or the couch, but wanting to be with us no matter what.
Dave got sick too, and yet her persevered.
Life goes on.

Yesterday was no different: Dahlia brought home her first case of head lice from school, where there was an outbreak this week.
At least I think she did - something in my gut told me that the lice checkers at the school may have mistakenly identified the little crusts of psoriasis on her scalp as lice eggs (nits).
But who knows; either way, we had to deal with it.
We may live in modern times, but there are still plenty of bugs all around and on and inside us.
And life does go on.

Reminds me of having lice as a kid.
My mom stuck me in the bathtub and poured a bottle of vinegar on my head, in an attempt to avoid the toxic over the counter products that were usually used.
I would then sit there for an hour sucking the vinegar off my hair, actually enjoying the taste.
Then she'd go through my long hair with a fine toothed comb for what felt like forever, and blow dry my hair with a hot dryer.

Guess what I did yesterday afternoon with my alternately screaming and patient four year old?
Now I'm the mom and I got to tackle my own child's head lice.
At least now you can get natural products to kill the lice in lieu of vinegar - the one Dave drove across town to get at Rainbow Grocery was made of tea tree oil.

I also got to do a zillion loads of laundry to wash all the sheets and clothes and towels and dry them on hot.
And vacuumed all the rugs and mattresses and couches for stray hairs.
Between all that shlepping and combing through Dahlia's hair as she sat in the tub, my back was throbbing by the early evening and I was exhausted.
And at the same time, I kept saying to myself, "Boy, you are one burly pregnant mama!"
I poured vinegar on my own hair - just in case - and took a hot shower afterwards.
Life goes on.

My prayer yesterday was this:
May head lice be the worst thing we ever have to deal with once Tikva is old enough to go to school.
And may that and the flu be the worst thing Dahlia ever has to deal with, too.

Las Lechugueras

A beautiful image and message from our sweet friend Alex, who has been Dahlia's #1 babysitter since she was about one and a half, and a dear friend to us all (along with her whole family):

"gal- when i think of you and tikva resting in god's big hand, this picture comes to mind. i see you curled up, with your belly glowing. this is a mural that used to be in the mission. it was painted by the woman who is teaching my women in art history class- Juana Alicia Montoya. -love alex"

Thank you, Alex! This is beautiful and inspiring.

Big God

An old friend of Dave's from high school shared my blog with a few of her friends whom I don't know personally.
I was deeply moved.
One of them wrote her and cc'ed us, that God has placed Tikva on her heart and she will be praying for us.
And she wrote: "We serve a big God and He is good all the time."

I love the idea of God being big... it reminds me of that quote from the Orthodox preschool that said:
"Don't tell God how big your problems are. Rather, tell your problems how big your God is."
It makes me think of God's giant palm where I can rest.
It makes me feel small, but not powerless.
It just reminds me that I don't have to be in charge of everything, in control of much of anything.
It's humbling and comforting at the same time.
Reminds me that I am not alone.

I think this whole experience is making me comfortable to go to deeper spiritual places than I have ever felt comfortable going to.
You could say I'm finding my religion, except I'm not a big fan of the word religion because of all its negative connotations.
But then again, I had a hard time with the word "God" for many years too, and that doesn't seem to be an issue anymore.
I used to use words like Godness, The Universe... and I still use words like The Source and Essential Energy.
I don't like to get wrapped up in semantics, because it really is all the same thing - this idea that we are all connected to something bigger than us, and to each other.

Sometimes I think about my Grandma Ala who survived the Holocaust, and all those people who survived for one reason or another - faith, a fighting spirit, chance, circumstances beyond their control, the help of others, who knows what.
I wonder if I would've survived or perished - sometimes I've even wondered if I was someone who went through that and didn't survive, and now I'm back, surviving.
I am not a fan these days of being told how strong I am, or how much I am a survivor - and yet it's something I am able to connect to.
I look at the scars from my shingles on my chest and back and left arm, and I marvel that I got through that amount of excruciating pain without medication, and while pregnant, and while living in Jerusalem.
I think I would have been like my grandmother - strong, resilient, resourceful, a survivor.

Dahlia's middle name is Aloisia, after my Grandma Ala.
Tikva's middle name will be Ahrona, after Dave's Poppa Aron, who was also a survivor.
If we have anything in both of our families, it is a strong fighting spirit.
I know our children have it too.

(We decided that Tikva’s middle name will actually be Ahava – which means Love.)

Carrying Tikva, Birthing Tikva

I'm not exactly sure how much I weigh right now, nor how much of my weight is Tikva, how much is amniotic fluid, and how much is weight I've gained in the rest of my body.
But I am very sure that I feel very huge and heavy, and that I wasn't quite this heavy or huge at 31 weeks when I carried Dahlia.
Or maybe I was, but I can't remember.
I do remember being extremely itchy during my last trimester with Dahlia, probably due to something called cholestasis, when the liver bile becomes backed up from a pregnancy.
What I remember about this period last time around was feeling incredibly uncomfortable in my itchy skin.
What I feel now is mid-back pain, something I didn't experience last time.
There is a lot of stretching going on in the muscles on the side of my torso, which are holding a great deal of the weight of my large belly.
Something in those muscles that connects to muscles and nerves in my back is being stretched, causing the back pain.
This is all my own self-diagnosis based on what I'm feeling.
And what I am feeling is HEAVY, gravity pulling on my belly.

At my last OB-GYN appointment, I happily got on the scale to find that I'd gained 25 pounds so far, which felt great.
Considering that I had a difficult time gaining weight last time and only gained 28 pounds by the time I was in labor - well, in spite of the resulting backache, in my case weight gain during pregnancy is good news.
I only hope I'm able to keep some of the weight on postpartum once I'm pumping milk and eventually nursing Tikva.
Nursing Dahlia was what helped me drop to below my pre-pregnancy weight in less than 2 months, and it was difficult for me to keep enough weight on to sustain myself as much as I needed while I was giving so much to my new baby.
My plan this time around is to keep eating as though I'm pregnant even after I deliver Tikva - they say when you're nursing you need to take in 4,000 calories a day, which is 1,000 more than you need while pregnant.

Next week I start non-stress testing at UCSF, which I will do weekly until I go into labor.
They'll check Tikva's size and weight, the amount of fluid in the amniotic sac, her heartbeat, and probably some other things.
I'm really curious to know how much of this weight I'm carrying is Tikva, how much is fluid, and how much is me.
I have a feeling she's going to continue to be big, and that I am going to get much bigger before she arrives.
What I learned a few weeks ago that was good news is that I may not need to be induced.
If all continues to go well with Tikva and her environment, and if my cervix starts to do its thing naturally to prepare for labor, they will let me go into labor on my own.
Since we live 10 minutes from UCSF, they know that I'll be able to get there in a flash as soon as my labor starts.
It seems like it's a week-by-week process, and they will continue to monitor everything as the weeks progress and make decisions as we go.

I've started working with a chiropractor and an acupuncturist - friends who are married and have a beautiful practice together nearby.
It's good for my back and good for my insides and good for Tikva.
The acupuncturist will also be able to help me to assure that labor starts and progresses as it needs to, so that the doctors hopefully won't need to induce me.
I am open to all the possibilities - knowing that anything can happen at any time - but starting to prepare in my heart and body for an empowered labor and birth experience that is as normal as possible under the circumstances.
The doctors at UCSF seem confident that I will be able to deliver vaginally since it is something my body has done before.
Sounds good to me.

For these (and many other) reasons it is good to be back in San Francisco and the Bay Area:

I live in the quietest part of town, and out all of our windows I can see green.
I can take walks through Golden Gate Park and end up at Ocean Beach, breathing fresh oxygenated clean crisp ocean air the whole way.
I know my way around everywhere, almost instinctively.
They have Trader Joe's here (I so missed it when I was in Israel).
I am doing energy work.
I am having massages.
I am seeing a chiropractor.
I am seeing an acupuncturist.
I go to prenatal yoga twice a week.
We have access to the most amazing healers - alternative and western practitioners who are here to help and support us.
This really is home, even if at times it feels totally surreal to be living in SF again.
And we are surrounded by the most amazing love imaginable, coming to us from all corners of the Bay Area and from all corners of the world.

It feels good to be carrying Tikva, to feel her endless wiggles inside my big watermelon belly.
I can tell she's getting cramped in there, adjusting a lot more than before.
I am pretty sure she's staying head down because when she gets the hiccups, I feel it in my pelvis and it makes me smile.
She continues to feel vital and strong inside me, so very much alive and growing.
I know that she is on her journey, preparing for what is ahead in ways I cannot know.
While I prepare myself as much as possible, acknowledging when the fear comes and giving space for the range of feelings and emotions that surround me each day.
Acknowledging the optimism and trust that I am able to feel when I see one of Tikva's limbs cross the mountain of my belly, as if she's doing a moon dance on the inside.

A few weeks ago before an OB-GYN appointment, Dave met me at UCSF and we spent some time with Stephanie, our social worker in the pediatric intensive care department. She showed us around labor and delivery, which is quite impressive at UCSF - all of the rooms have amazing views and are private. She took us for a second visit to the NICU, where we saw many tiny little babies attached to many tubes and wires and monitors and IVs. And she showed us the operating room where I will push Tikva out, which is attached to the "pass-through" room where they will immediately take her to be stabilized after she comes out of me and her cord is cut. Of all the rooms we saw, including the NICU, the most striking to me was the operating room - so brightly lit, with one of those big OR lamps above the table in the middle. So medical. It's taken me more than a week to take in the idea of pushing out my baby in this space, which will be filled with more than a few doctors and nurses and hopefully not too many observing medical students. And yet this is where Tikva will be born, because she needs to be right next to the pass-through room, which is attached to the OR by a window that opens wide enough to pass a baby through. I don't think I will get to touch her, much less hold her, before she is taken to this room - not quite like my experience with Dahlia, who was immediately put on my chest even before her cord was cut and I'd pushed her placenta out. Yes, I do feel an enormous amount of sadness about this. But this is what Tikva will need, this is why it's important that I push her out in an operating room, where they will be ready to help her immediately with her breathing and to stabilize her before she joins the other little ones in the NICU.

And you know what?
This will be part of Tikva's birth story.
This will be part of my story of how I birthed her, how she birthed herself, and how so many people helped her to be born.
I hope to push her out like I did Dahlia.
We will photograph her birth like we did Dahlia's.
And we will photograph her first days and weeks like we did for Dahlia, even in the NICU.

The other night gazing into space on the couch, I got an image of Tikva in the NICU, lying on her own little bed with a heat lamp above her, keeping her warm.
The image brought tears to my eyes, imagining what is ahead for her.
Then I realized something: this was the first time I have been able to imagine something beyond her birth.
I could see her with her dark hair and her baby body, supported.
This realization gave me great comfort - being able to see to this point in time, not exactly sure how old she is, but seeing her alive and persisting, on the other side of her birth.
I think that is why visiting the NICU didn't get in me in quite the same way the OR did - seeing how cared for those babies are in the NICU gives me comfort.
I know Tikva will be - already is - in good hands, and that their staff and machines and medications will do all they can to help her.
It takes some of the fear away, reminds me that it is not all in my hands, and doesn't need to be.

And of course there is the Biggest Hand of all - God's.
It's that beautiful image of resting in God's palm.
When I need to, I picture myself, Tikva nestled inside my belly, curled up in a ball, very small, at the center of God's giant palm.
Needing to do nothing more than relax completely and drop in, feeling the warmth and love radiating into both our bodies.

True Compassion

After writing my last post about Tikva's name, I responded in an email to my friend who had asked the thoughtful question about how to use Tikva's name in prayer. I wrote her: "Sweet friend, I have just answered your thoughtful question in my blog... Thank you for the depth of your compassion."

She wrote me the following in response, and I wanted to share her incredible words here:

"You are the tremendously compassionate one. In a time when being surrounded by friends & family with support and love and prayers is so important, you wrote - not for you - for me. You wrote with a depth of wisdom and clarity and knowing about this soul, this being, that continues to grow so strong within the boundaries of your body. I continue to pray for Tikva, with your vision as my guide, to be carried into your's and David's and God's arms, on this physical earth, in continued growth, collecting potential for continued health from wherever it should come - you, medical technology, love, prayer, God. Tikva will remain on my lips until her own strength can stand independently. And yet, even then, may she still never be alone."

Thank you, sweet friend.

Tikva's Name

Tikva named herself.
In a dream I had about a week BEFORE the ultrasound that told us about her CDH, at a time when I was sure I was having a normal pregnancy and carrying a healthy baby, I had a dream about her.
In it, she told me that she was a girl, and she said her name was Tikva.
That was the entire dream, and it was very clear.
I don't make a habit of dreaming about Hebrew words.
As a matter of fact, I don't really know that many Hebrew words.
But somewhere in my 36 years, I must've learned the meaning of the word Tikva: Hope.

I didn't think about the dream much until that first ultrasound, when it came back to me clearly and I had no doubt that this little girl inside me was indeed a messenger of Hope.
Tikva has been her name from that moment - it's something neither of us has questioned.
It is both her name while she is in my belly and the name she will have when she is born.

There are a lot of old rooted superstitions in Judaism, and a wealth of deeply rooted traditions.
In Jewish law, although the human soul exists before birth, human life begins at birth - at the time when the child is more than halfway emerged from the mother's body.
Traditional Jews don't have baby showers, because drawing attention to the baby also draws bad luck to the baby.
For both of these reasons, a Jewish baby is not usually named until the 8th day of life, when a male baby would be circumcised and a girl baby would have a naming ceremony.

A very sweet and thoughtful friend asked me a few days ago about how to name Tikva in her prayers.
She remembered a Jewish tradition of changing one's name in prayers for healing to distract the attention of the angel of death.
I have read about amulets used in older times to do the same.
I have seen prayers that can be recited which name all the possible horrible things that can happen to a baby and pregnant woman - their goal being to diffuse the fear of all the possibilities by speaking them out loud.
During earlier times when women often miscarried and lost babies during the first years of life, it is no surprise that all of these rituals were created to provide some sense of control over something so precarious and beyond us - life and death.

But I am not a superstitious person.
Whatever superstitions I may have carried, I made a conscious choice to let them go several years ago, when I saw superstition as a belief system that did not serve me, and therefore as something I could simply abandon.
I am not afraid of saying Tikva's name out loud, and having others say it as well, if this is something they are comfortable with.
I don't know if I would feel this way if we had chosen her name for her, rather than have her let us know very clearly that she is Tikva.

I don't feel the need to debate whether Tikva is a human life yet or just a soul.
If we are all part of the energetic dance of life, and we are all spirits in different forms and incarnations, I see Tikva as a being who has already begun her important life's work, whose journey is already unfolding.
However her journey unfolds, she will always be Tikva.
My prayer is that one day she will be Tikva, a very old woman with a very special story to tell her grandchildren about her life.

It's funny, because part of the reason a baby isn't given a name in Judaism until the 8th day of life is because of her delicate and vulnerable state during that first week of life, the unsureness about whether she will make it.
In Tikva's case, that should have an even deeper meaning.
And yet I feel no fear in naming her already, and saying her name aloud.
She has already begun to exist - her spirit is already present and real - no matter how much life she gets to live.

My answer to your thoughtful question, my dear friend, and any others who have wondered: Please feel free to use Tikva's name freely, if this is something that is comfortable for you.
I've had some people ask for my full Hebrew name, because the more customary way is to pray for the pregnant mother (my Hebrew name is Gal bat Orit; or Gal bat Orit ve Avraham, if you want to also include my father's name).
I deeply appreciate any prayers - but a prayer for just me feels limited without naming the child I am carrying.
In this case, the name of the child in my belly is so much more central to a prayer than the names of my parents.

When I pray these days, I pray for Tikva, and for my ability to continue holding Hope and Trust in her and our journeys.
My most important request, though, is this: Please pray in whatever way feels comfortable for you.
Offer prayers of comfort, of wisdom, of strength, of clarity, of trust - whatever is in your heart that you feel we might need or benefit from.
It is the wisdom in all of your hearts that creates the abundance and variety of prayers to form a web of comfort and support that holds us.
And if prayer is not for you - maybe just close your eyes and think LOVE and send some of that energy outwards in a way that will touch anyone needing a little dose in that moment.
Either way, we feel it from a very deep place, and so does Tikva.

One Year

A year ago today, I miscarried my second pregnancy at 10 weeks.
I woke up that morning with a little light spotting, and had a feeling something was not right.
I took a little walk by myself and cried and spoke to the little spirit inside me, and spoke to God.
Then I took Dahlia to a birthday party at a park nearby and spoke to a few friends - one who had been a doula and another who had been a pediatrician.
And I called the advice nurses at Kaiser several times.
In the early afternoon, I asked a friend if she could take Dahlia home with her from the party, and I went home to get Dave.
We went together to the ER at Kaiser and were there for several hours.
By the time we left, I no longer carried my baby, and Dave and I were broken.

It was the day before the beginning of Passover.

Dave has been with me through some of my hardest moments - when the colitis came back in my body after 7 years; when my father was in the depths of his struggles with drug addiction; when I had shingles.
But that day when I miscarried was very different.
For the first time, it was about us - not about him supporting me through something that was mine.
This was ours.
We both lost our baby, we both cried from the depths of ourselves, and we both carried the grief of the loss, we both felt how vulnerable we are.
It was one of those moments - in hindsight - that set the stage for how we as a couple, as a team, as partners, would approach future challenges in our lives.
We had no way of knowing, on that day, what was ahead.

I don't want to belittle that experience by saying that, in light of where we sit now, it felt like small potatoes.
It was a hugely transformative experience, I think for both of us.
For the first time for me, my confidence in my reproductive abilities was challenged.
And at the same time, I recognized that the miscarriage was my body doing its job, knowing that this little being wasn't going to make it in the long run.
I've wondered during this pregnancy with Tikva if she is the same spirit that gave it a try last pregnancy - if now she is ready where before she wasn't.
Or if Tikva is another spirit altogether.

What I do know is that Dave and I made it through that experience last spring, and we came out stronger, more deeply connected.
It has been a huge year of change and growth since then.
We gathered our resources and left the Bay Area.
We moved our family to Israel and did some really hard work to adapt there as best we could.
We got pregnant there.
We traveled to Jordan and Egypt for an amazing family vacation.
We joined forces to get me through shingles.
We received the most difficult news of our family's life, and gathered our resources to return swiftly to the Bay Area.
All in one year.
One year.
Time works in mysterious ways.