It’s so different, this pregnancy with baby Owen. The anticipation is there, but yet it’s not.

We have the crib set up (anxious, much?) but yet I can’t picture a baby in there. Not a healthy one, anyway.

I’ve got these fears that he’ll be stillborn or born too early or contract some horrible illness that takes him away from me. I keep trying to hand these stupid, irrational fears over to the Savior, trying to rid myself of these awful thoughts but they keep coming back. These fears have dug a deep, empty groove in my soul and I have nothing to fill it with.

I feel robbed of the goodness and joy of motherhood. I wish, just for a tiny moment, that I could once again be innocent and unknowing. I wish I could still skip the chapters of something like that is so rare it would never happen to me or anyone I know.

But it did, and it shattered my heart. You can’t just unforget that it ever happened.

So where do I find peace? Is it tangible and real? Owen, I want to find peace in you, in your little squishy baby thighs and soft baby cheeks. But some days I just don’t know that you ARE real, that you’re mine to keep. I can feel your wiggles and hiccups and soft tickles inside of me, but I fear until I hold you safely in my arms I’m not convinced.

And even then, will you ever be safe? I can’t bury another baby in the ground.

I fear my heart has signed up for a task far bigger than it can handle.