On letting go

It has been a long time since I have been here. I wasn't sure if I would ever pick up the blog again. But tonight my head is full and my heart is bursting. It is 2 am and all the house is asleep and so the blog is the only place I can work out just what it is I am feeling.

My baby turns 1 on Sunday. My last baby. In what has to have been the fastest year of my life he has gone from a tiny 6 lb ball of heaven on my chest to a 24 lb package of baby on my hip. I don't know how it happened. (and all of the other cliche's about time)

I have snuck into his bedroom almost every night these past couple of weeks to watch him sleep. My heart aches for him in a way I can't put words to. I feel it deep in my soul. The need of him. Perhaps it is because he is my last, the last chubby hands tapping on my chest, the last baby breath drifting up from my shoulder, the last tiny feet curled so perfectly against my body. Chris and I had a divine partnership with God in creating tiny beautiful people but he the last and I am in mourning.

I scooped him up from bed one night and held him tightly. As I sniffed the top of his freshly bathed head I felt it all in one giant rush, those months of pregnancy filled with fear and anxiety, the strength it took to bring him into the world, the immense love that filled the room when we first met, the feeling and knowledge that Heaven and earth were one in the same if only for a moment, those wonderous eyes seeing things for the first time,  the sleepless nights, the million swaddles, the early morning feedings cuddled up in bed, the worry, the tears, the giggles, the laughter. A whole year of life flooded my mind and it was breathtaking, and it was heartbreaking. I could almost feel the tiny moments of ordinary days slipping through my hands as I clutched him tighter and the tears fell freely. And it seemed to me that the ordinary moments of story telling, and stroller walking, and midnight rocking will be the moments I will miss the most.  Mothering constantly requires a delicate balance of holding on and letting go that I am still trying to navigate. But I am grateful for the ride and the ability to hold on tightly even as I am letting go.

April Fools

It was a year ago that this little man played the worst April fools joke.  

My mom had arrived the day before and we had just told her a new baby was on the way.  I was sick.  So so so sick.  I had been for about 5 weeks.  We took a walk to the park with Brielle and Addison. When we came home I was extra tired so while mom read books to the girls I took a quick nap in the recliner chair. I woke up to a sharp pain and a large gush of fluids.  Mom was still reading books so I tried to quickly (but calmly) get up and head to the bathroom.  

I'll spare you all the gross details but there was a lot of blood and fluid and things that meant there wasn't going to be a baby joining us after all.

I was filled with so many feelings.  I was sad and scared and confused and frustrated and I felt so much guilt. You see, I hadn't really wanted to get pregnant. It had taken over a year to accept the promptings and whisperings that there really was another little spirit who needed to join our family. It had taken over a year to prepare myself for the unbearable awfulness that is pregnancy. But I had done it. I had given my will over to His I had sacrificed my body, my health, my sanity, because I knew that I needed to have faith in His plan. I had already survived 5 weeks of the debilitating sickness that accompanies pregnancy and I COULD NOT imagine ever doing it again. So I hit my knees and left it all in Heavenly Father's hands. I believe the words went something along these lines "I am willing. I have given you everything I've got. If you want a spirit to join this family this is your chance. But I can't do it again, I won't survive it. So please, if this baby is meant to be in my arms fix this. Save this pregnancy and this baby."

The bleeding and the fluid continued. By the time we made it to the emergency room I was 100% sure that there was no way a baby could survive it all. We were admitted and the ultra sound tech came in. Chris and I were both prepared for the absolute worst and then, a heartbeat. A strong heartbeat and a very active little baby. I was so confused. How? The tech couldn't say anything and it was another hour before a doctor came in to tell us our baby was just fine. There was no real explanation for all of the blood and fluid. There was no guarantee that I wasn't miscarrying but for now the baby looked good. I was sent home on bedrest for the weekend and we all joked through tears that this baby was the ultimate April 1st prankster.  

One year later I still look at him and think of that day a year ago when I was sure I would never see his little face. He is a reminder that prayers are heard, miracles happen and there is a plan that is always so much greater than our own.