I hesitated, at first, to use the term "birthday" but that's what it is. The emergence and separation of offspring from the body of the mother. I know that a lot of "us" get caught up on what to call it, but by definition, although we expected it to be in July, this is his birthday.
Yet, there are no balloons to tie to his chair. No cake to decorate. No candles to blow out. No presents to unwrap. No crazy sugar hyped three year old little guy running around. No FB wall full of Happy Birthday! posts - one lone "I'm thinking of you", love filled message. And? Even though we have his beautiful little sister, my heart still aches to know him.
On the outside, it's a day just like any other. The weather was exactly the same as it was three years ago as I crumpled in pure, raw, grief. In my heart, it's not just another day. It's his day. I'm not at a point where I can look to this day as being "OK" or "joyful" or even just "devoid of emotion." But I have peace. This day, three years ago, changes were well under way. Changes that would totally alter life as I knew it. Some people walked out of my life. Some ran. Others quietly tiptoed in and have stayed through everything.
The rawness, the extreme physical and emotional pains have subsided like a low tide leaving the thick, foot weighing mud behind, all the while revealing the rare beauties that not everyone gets to experience. He (and the others) were a necessary part of my journey. A journey that I've never walked alone even when it felt very lonely.
“'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me and I will listen to you.'" Jeremiah 29:11-12
And tomorrow will be the first day of the next year...
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Linger a little longer
My last handful of posts here have been real downers. Sorry about that. The rest of everything else is pretty swell but I do fully admit to running here to get the ookies off my chest. Instead of stuffing it, I get it out and then I'm able to move forward. It really isn't a bad thing.
Cheap therapy.
Also cheap therapy? This kid.
We are all crazy in love with her and her personality just cracks me up. She has cruised right into my favorite age which is from about 9 months to 18 months (but don't tell the big kids that. Though it was my favorite age with them too.) She has figured out how to make us laugh. She finds things hilarious, which makes us laugh... which makes her laugh even more.
Tonight, while nursing her before bed, she could. not. stop. giggling. Which gave herself the hiccups.
And then she promptly spit-up on us, totally startling herself.
Yah. It's been a while since that happened!
After she went to bed I noticed that tell-tale smell of baby spit-up.
And I kind of liked it.
Because this age is just a flash in the pan.
Almost to the hour, Jim and I have been together for 15 years now. It all goes so fast. So tonight, I will linger a little longer before I change my spit up sweatshirt :)
Cheap therapy.
Also cheap therapy? This kid.
We are all crazy in love with her and her personality just cracks me up. She has cruised right into my favorite age which is from about 9 months to 18 months (but don't tell the big kids that. Though it was my favorite age with them too.) She has figured out how to make us laugh. She finds things hilarious, which makes us laugh... which makes her laugh even more.
Tonight, while nursing her before bed, she could. not. stop. giggling. Which gave herself the hiccups.
And then she promptly spit-up on us, totally startling herself.
Yah. It's been a while since that happened!
After she went to bed I noticed that tell-tale smell of baby spit-up.
And I kind of liked it.
Because this age is just a flash in the pan.
Almost to the hour, Jim and I have been together for 15 years now. It all goes so fast. So tonight, I will linger a little longer before I change my spit up sweatshirt :)
Friday, February 4, 2011
It Doesn't Define Me
It really doesn't. And I shouldn't let it. Or even feel like some days it does.
(it's kind of a 'poor me' stream of consciousness post, feel free to skip it!)
I honestly don't think that many people look at me like "Oh, that's the lady who couldn't stay pregnant." Seriously, people should have way too many other things to think about than that. But yet, I can't escape that nagging feeling that that's what some people do think, especially if it's been a while since I've seen them or I don't seem them often. It's just as likely that they're thinking "I could really swear that she was skinnier last time I saw her." or "Man she looks tired." or "I wonder when she's going to finally get a hair cut because what she's got going on now is just not working." or "You would think that her kids would behave better." or "Huh, I wonder what the paint color on that wall is." ...that one's especially possible when I feel like someone is looking right through me.
I've found myself feeling very small and insignificant and while most of the time that doesn't bother me. Sometimes it does.
And I want so desperately to fit in somewhere and feel comfortable.
That sounds pathetic.
But I don't really feel like I "fit" anywhere anymore. For entertainment's sake, I went to a website that I've used before... looked through the group descriptions for what I was hoping to find and didn't. fit. a. single. one. Really?!
I just want to be comfortable, like fall into a fluffy couch with a cozy blanket and a sweet, hot cup of coffee, comfortable.
Maybe I'm defining myself too narrowly.
Maybe I don't know how to define myself at all anymore.
Maybe I just need to get comfortable with "me".
Maybe that kind of comfortable is reserved for the most special of people and that's why it's so sought after.
Clearly, I must be having some issues. And it's that time of year again. But it's been that time of year for almost 3 years now so I should be getting used to it. And at the end of the day, I know that I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I'm not missing out on any of Stella's infancy by running all over to different places. (I was super busy when Rylan was little and, sadly, it's all kind of a blur but there was lots of - not child created - stress too)
And when I feel alone, I'm not really... half-way through writing this post my friend (like the real-life, doesn't just live in my computer type) posted this:
(it's kind of a 'poor me' stream of consciousness post, feel free to skip it!)
I honestly don't think that many people look at me like "Oh, that's the lady who couldn't stay pregnant." Seriously, people should have way too many other things to think about than that. But yet, I can't escape that nagging feeling that that's what some people do think, especially if it's been a while since I've seen them or I don't seem them often. It's just as likely that they're thinking "I could really swear that she was skinnier last time I saw her." or "Man she looks tired." or "I wonder when she's going to finally get a hair cut because what she's got going on now is just not working." or "You would think that her kids would behave better." or "Huh, I wonder what the paint color on that wall is." ...that one's especially possible when I feel like someone is looking right through me.
I've found myself feeling very small and insignificant and while most of the time that doesn't bother me. Sometimes it does.
And I want so desperately to fit in somewhere and feel comfortable.
That sounds pathetic.
But I don't really feel like I "fit" anywhere anymore. For entertainment's sake, I went to a website that I've used before... looked through the group descriptions for what I was hoping to find and didn't. fit. a. single. one. Really?!
I just want to be comfortable, like fall into a fluffy couch with a cozy blanket and a sweet, hot cup of coffee, comfortable.
Maybe I'm defining myself too narrowly.
Maybe I don't know how to define myself at all anymore.
Maybe I just need to get comfortable with "me".
Maybe that kind of comfortable is reserved for the most special of people and that's why it's so sought after.
Clearly, I must be having some issues. And it's that time of year again. But it's been that time of year for almost 3 years now so I should be getting used to it. And at the end of the day, I know that I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I'm not missing out on any of Stella's infancy by running all over to different places. (I was super busy when Rylan was little and, sadly, it's all kind of a blur but there was lots of - not child created - stress too)
And when I feel alone, I'm not really... half-way through writing this post my friend (like the real-life, doesn't just live in my computer type) posted this:
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