delighted to be » baby amelia

closing the gap + gratitude / march 27, 2014

28weeks_owen

Less than twelve weeks left. (Give or take. I hope for the latter; I know bigger babies sleep better but we can’t wait to meet you Owen!)

I can’t believe our time is coming to an end with just me & Jack. It will never be just the two of us again.

It’s ironic to me that the last post I wrote before we found out that Amelia would die was about this very same thing. “I can’t believe how fast the gap is closing of only having one kiddo in our home.” Well, in retrospect now I can’t believe how long it took to get to bring another baby home. (These kiddos will be almost 4 years apart—something I never, ever envisioned for our family but it turns out some of our best-laid plans can be spoiled.)

I went back and forth for months and months about whether I even wanted more kids after Amelia. And of course, deep down beneath that fear I did want more children.

But let’s be honest with each other—obviously bringing my last baby home to die opened my eyes to terrifying possibilities that I’d rather avoid. It was a blessing in so many ways but I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. So one kid sounded really nice.

Tyler never pressured me for this baby. He let me take my time, and I love him dearly for it. But sometimes when my body aches and I’m exhausted by 11am, I wish I would have waited longer. 3 babies in 5 years is no joke to your body.

And then I sit down and relax a little and remember again how blessed I am. Friends, help me remember gratitude. I truly believe (and have seen in my life again and again) that it’s the one principle that can fix almost anything.

When the days get hard and the nights are long, gratitude. When I feel like my body is failing me and my spirit is about to collapse, gratitude. When I feel like a hippo with a bowling ball of a stomach (see above), gratitude. Because the day will soon come when there’s a healthy little squirming baby in my arms again.

And I will look at baby Owen and be so grateful I took the plunge. Even now, I can’t imagine our lives without him.

No Comments

18-months / march 3, 2014

amelia32

My dear Amelia,

Yesterday marked the first time I would have dropped you off at church nursery, can you believe it? I can just imagine how you would have ran right in there and never looked back. You’re brave like that, baby girl, and were always completely willing to face the unknown without fear.

It’s a little heartbreaking to know we never got to hit that milestone with you, because it’s a biggie. Your Dad and I would have finally had the chance to relax and sit still in church for once, instead of chasing you! :)

I’m sad I couldn’t spend the day celebrating with you.

I’ve known your 18-month birthday was coming up soon, I could feel it in my gut. I don’t count the days or weeks or months anymore, but for some reason my body just knew about this one all on its own and when I did the math it was spot on. Funny how us mamas just KNOW.

Do you remember last Sunday when the closing song was “Families Can Be Together Forever”? It wasn’t long after the first few notes that I was already choking back tears and heaving sobs. It took everything in me to stay in my seat and not bolt right out of the room. We played that song at your graveside funeral, Amelia, and every time I hear it I picture lowering your tiny body into the hard, unforgiving earth. Every time I hear it I wish I could hold you one last time.

Amelia, this Sunday we sang your lullaby, “Teach Me To Walk in the Light” for the closing song. Did you orchestrate that “coincidence” too? You’ll remember it nearly brought on the waterworks, but I did manage to keep those tears from spilling over my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. The girls I sit next to must think I’m nuts. I hate crying, but it just breaks my heart to know it will be a very long time until I get to hold you in my arms and sing it to you again.

I swear, the days have gotten better, have you noticed? The pain isn’t gut-wrenching and unrelentless anymore, but still hurts in a lonelier kind of way than it used to. This move has been so, so good for us and we love where we live more than ever before, but I do miss the Bay Area. A (quite literal) part of me — that’s you — will always be buried there.

But you’re with me here, too, I can feel it. Always missing you, baby girl.

xoxo, Mama

1 Comment

just call it nesting, okay? / february 28, 2014

owensnursery

So I know I can’t be alone in planning a nursery way in advance, right? Right?*

We have three-and-a-half months to go before Owen is born and even though he’s not the first baby I’ve had I feel super unprepared. Maybe deep down I feel like if he has a space – an actual space JUST for him – that it’s really happening.

Gosh I hope I get to keep him.

I didn’t plan a nursery with Amelia. I didn’t even think she’d come home with us, so we didn’t need a crib or a carseat or burp cloths. I didn’t set aside any space in our home for her. So naturally, it has been really, really important to me to plan an actual nursery space for this baby. I feel like it’s helping solidify the entire experience for all three of us (especially Jack) and hopefully Owen’s little spirit already feels welcome and loved in our home.

I know, I think I’m crazy too. But I don’t like chaos. Let’s just blame it on my pregnancy nesting instinct, okay?

*Tyler pointed out to me that the above image is completely crazy. Yes, yes it is. I just got a new laptop for freelance work and I have to revert back to using a Mac (yay!) and Adobe CS3 again so I’ve been brushing up on my shortcut skills. Turns out that CS3 is super old, but at least it works? :) And while I’m at it, anyone else hating Adobe’s change to monthly subscriptions?!

1 Comment

fears / february 25, 2014

iheartowen

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.

No Comments

« Previous Page — Next Page »