I've debated writing this one for about a week now. See, we've hit that time when we would have had a brand new baby in our house. I was thankful when back in March I finally lost count of how many weeks I should have been, but when July hit I picked it up almost immediately. He/she would have most likely been born by now and we would be in the newborn haze of endless nursing, diaper changes, and sleepless nights. But also the intoxicating newborn baby smell, the impossibly tiny clothes, and the squishy cuddles of a newborn baby that go on for hours. I would be recovering from my third c-section, learning to navigate the waters of being a mom of three, and dealing with the awful postpartum hormones. Of course, I would also be watching my former "baby" become a big brother, seeing Alexandra welcome a baby that she's actually excited about (Woodson was definitely not her cup of tea when he was born), and remembering all over again how love at first sight is not only possible but also completely overwhelming.
Please don't misunderstand, I am so incredibly grateful for where I am. I sit here 18 weeks pregnant with a brand new baby growing inside. A baby that, just like my other three, I have felt an intense love for from the moment I knew he/she existed. But if I'm being honest, I want them both. I know that's impossible, but I want the baby I never saw, touched or felt and I want the baby who wouldn't be here if that one was.
When we told the kids that we were once again expecting a baby their responses were so sweet and yet so tinged in the pain they saw us experience. I know they experienced pain in their own way too, but they are too young to truly grasp what happened. Alexandra's first response was to say "Oh good, we can all be happy again!" and Woodson wanted to know if this was the same baby who went to Heaven. I think we have finally convinced him that there are two different babies and he now tells me that one day we can meet our baby in Heaven. Both of the kids talk to my tummy often and tell this baby "Please don't die so we can meet you." It's a sweet and yet painful reminder of the hurt that took over our family and the sadness that still sometimes looms.
And yet, I can't deny the hope that I feel. 2014 started out just so incredibly bad. I lost what I was looking forward to the most, I lost hope, I lost faith in my body, I lost the innocence of somehow just knowing everything was going to be ok. I was forced to sit on the sidelines as news of new babies seemed to swarm all around me. The first three months of the year were probably the darkest time in my life. I went through the motions of being ok, and even convinced myself that I was, but truthfully I was drowning. A few people asked how I was really doing. I think they knew the answer before they asked because they never accepted my "ok." They always pushed for more. Maybe I should have opened up, but I didn't even have the words to use. Nat called me out on it a few times and I jumped all over him. It's a good man who can stand by his wife when she is on the verge of a complete breakdown and still love and support her. And then Easter Sunday came. I almost didn't take the test that morning. I just knew it was going to be negative, but it wasn't. As I looked at a calendar I realized we had a Christmas Day due date. Hope was born that morning in the midst of a dark and treacherous time.
The beginning was rough. It's hard to convince yourself that the morning sickness is worth it when just a few short months ago it turned out it wasn't. All of a sudden my body, which I had every confidence could carry a baby even if it refused to deliver one, seemed foreign and scary. In some ways that is still true today. Every twinge sends a shock of fear straight through my heart. Every day that goes by with little or no movement puts me in tears. Every trip to the bathroom leaves me holding my breath wondering if the bottom is about to drop out. The two times the doctors have used the doppler to find the heartbeat have been anxiety filled. The first time was still early and they pulled out an ultrasound machine and found the baby easily. The second time took minutes that felt like hours. The kids were with me and Alexandra kept asking why it was taking so long. Meanwhile I'm on the table trying not to cry. When the doctor finally found it I realized I had been holding my breath. I resent the fact that my last pregnancy is filled with fear, but I know what's behind the door marked "Loss" and I'll never be able to un-know it.
As August looms just ahead it is almost surreal to me to think that we started this journey a year ago. If you had asked me then I never would have guessed we'd be here today. When I was a teenager I remember thinking I wanted four kids one day...I guess I got them, just not in the way I imagined. Most days I feel like a terrible parent to our third baby...mostly because I tell people that I am now pregnant with our third. I hate that that child will forever be unknown to most people and is easily forgotten by those who did know. Maybe it's the middle child in me, the one who was always afraid of going unnoticed, who hates that for that baby.
Like so many parts of life, there isn't a pretty bow to tie this all up. Sometimes life hurts. A lot of times life is messy. I knew this time of the year would be hard. I honestly didn't know how hard it would be. I am thankful for the promise of new life and the hope it brings with it. I am optimistic that one day I will be able to say I've truly made it to the "other side"...my guess is that won't happen until this baby is safely wrapped up in my arms.
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