*Are You Covered?*

Hi, my name's Kerrie and I write over at Sanity Department. I'm participating in Absolutely Bananas Monday Writing Prompt about Embarrassing Moments. I already posted one over at www.sanitydepartment.com, but I'm writing a guest column here at Ankle Rolls. Enjoy this humiliating moment and then check out my Alarming Situation over at Sanity Department. Thanks!

Over the summer, me, Mr. T and T Junior went to the Scottish Highland Games in Enumclaw. We're both part Scottish, so it's something we try to attend every year. T Junior was handling the crowd and the noise of the bagpipes very well.

But, after an hour or so, it was time for him to eat. This was going to be my very first public breastfeeding experience.

We found a spot near the rear of the fairgrounds in an area where there was nothing going on. There were no booths or exhibits, just a lonely, empty bench. Perfect.

I told Mr. T to go enjoy himself while I fed our son.

I got out my privacy shawl and put it over my head. I know what you're thinking: Why didn't you just take a bottle? The answer to your very obvious question is: I'm not sure.

Anyway, breastfeeding a wiggly baby without a Boppy is no easy task. It's even harder when you can't see what you're doing because you are wearing a shawl trying to block others from seeing what you are doing. To make things more complicated, T Junior didn't really like being under this hot shawl. (He likes to observe his surroundings.) I kept having to make him latch again and again, but I couldn't see so it was difficult.

Finally, we got coordinated. He was eating and I was enjoying the music of the opening ceremonies featuring all of the pipe bands, maybe more than 100-pipers and -drummers strong. Even though they were far away, the music was loud and beautiful. A little breeze was blowing. It felt good.

T Junior was still eating when the ceremonies ended. The wind was picking up and I kept having to hold down one side of my shawl (the important side).

Then, to my shock and horror, I saw ALL of the pipers and drummers coming my way. There were lots and lots of men heading directly at us. I struggled to keep the wind from exposing me as EVERY member of ALL of the pipe bands passed right in front of me.

Figures.

A call for submissions

I hereby extend this call for guest writers for my blog. You may write on any topic you wish. And if you don't volunteer, I'm coming after you.

Heartbeats

My biggest fear in this life is losing my children. In fact, I'm certain that no one has visualized more horrible ways their children could be hurt than I have. I have a very vivid imagination, and random strangers snatching my children from my very arms is only the base level of my imaginings.

I don't know how I would survive their loss. They are my love, my life, my dreams, my compassion, my everything. It's not just about me, though:) These nouns are what I wish for them, as I try my best to guide and teach and love them for the day I have to set them free. (Not that I won't call ALL. THE. TIME.)

About a month before Ella's birth, my dad and I took a trip to the East Coast for fun. New York and outward. As we were leaving Gettysburg, Pa., we were seriously rear-ended, shoving our rental car into the back of the one in front. We all got out, the driver behind a young college girl profusely apologizing. Then I saw the passenger in the car ahead get out: She was very, very pregnant. Due, in fact, in a week.

The poor college girl had rammed into two pregnant women. What are the chances? Then all her friends started walking by the accident scene on their way to school. Poor thing.

I went to the hospital as a precaution, not really believing anything was wrong but also worried about back issues because we were hit HARD. The nurse brought out a stethoscope and listened for my baby's heartbeat. And couldn't find anything. A couple more nurses came through, and a portable heartbeat-listening-machine (the scientific name for it) still produced ... silence.

Despite their gentle reassurances about old equipment, my terror grew. And tears. The kind, kind, kind doctor came in, told me he was certain the baby was OK, but that they were bringing over a better device and they were going to do an ultrasound as well. That he wasn't at all worried but because I obviously was, he wanted to do what would make me feel better.

It. Took. Forever.

I was so scared, and for the first time contemplated what it would mean to lose the pregnancy I hadn't yet accepted. It's so common a scenario as to be stereotypical: Not knowing what you have until it's gone.

Obviously, the heartbeat was found, the baby once more vividly alive on the ultrasound, another set of pictures for the scrapbook.

How do women who lose their babies cope? How do they survive? It takes a strength I simply cannot imagine. So often after Ella was born and came home, I was lucky enough to be told the stories of strangers, strangers who in the course of telling me their pain and joy became mothers and members of my circle of family.

Rhythms of connections to the past and present and future. Understanding. Of the babies born too early who did not make it. Of the extraordinarily close calls. Of the past losses that present technology would have saved.

Thank you, to all of you, for sharing your beautiful, intimate stories. I hope that my being there for you for those tiny, tiny moments is accepted by the universe as a way of expressing my gratitude and giving back in so many ways I have been given. All of these heartbeats — gone, beating and still to come. I hear them and I feel them.

And on that hospital gurney in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, I felt my own baby's heart beating. And I fell in love with her for the very first time.