delighted to be

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

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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?!

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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.

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to baby jones #3 / february 20, 2014

23weeks

My dearest baby Owen,

You’re a thinker, aren’t you? So far, you’re quieter and calmer than your brother and sister ever were inside of me. Did you realize it wasn’t such a scary place after all? That maybe it was warmer and cozier than you’d thought?

Or maybe it’s just that you don’t get the sense that it’s forbidden anymore. Forgive me, Owen, for ever having feelings of doubts about loving and wanting you.

The truth is that I’ve always loved and wanted you, I just didn’t know it for a really long time.

My heart has longed for you – for specifically you, baby Owen – for what feels like forever. Our little family here on earth has had a lot of trials the past two years trying to get you here. Your little sister Amelia was always supposed to be second in line, and even though it’s tested my soul in ways I never thought possible I see now that what happened was for the best. I’m sure you understand this already, and I’m sure your soul is far older and wiser than mine.

Owen, you are stronger than I am. I know it probably isn’t the easiest job to be a rainbow baby, but thank you for lining up to come join our family anyway. I’ll probably cry a lot, and we will probably have a heart-to-heart late at night sometimes about how I miss your sister. You might have to learn patience and good listening skills, because there will surely be a lot for us to figure out along the way. Owen, will you love me anyway, despite my flaws and shortcomings?

I feel like the luckiest mama in the world that you chose me. Keep growing big and strong, and I’ll do my best to keep you safe. I won’t let you down, Owen. The world and the stars and the moon are yours for the taking.

xoxo, Mama

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