Are we there yet?

Almost halfway there. Except I'm not really sure where "there" is and if I'll ever get there.

I took my other pregnancies for granted. That if I made it through the first 12 weeks, that I'd have a sweet babe in my arms in another 30-32 weeks. I never worried about much related to the actual pregnancy. I was tired, cranky and achy. But that's normal. 

This time I worry if there will be a baby at the end. One who looks me, one who will eventually recognize me. One who will cry and learn to smile.

One who will live and grow up.

This pregnancy reminds me that all of these moments should never be taken for granted. It's both a blessing and a curse. To appreciate what I have, without the promise or guarantee of ever getting "there."

Reckless crazy and wild love

Sarah would have been 15 months old today. She would have been walking, likely running. And I'd be exhausted. But in an awesome way.

Instead, I'm exhausted in celebrating Jonah's half birthday, chasing Rachel through the grocery store and being pregnant way. About 200 more days of being pregnant. 

I'm happy that I'm pregnant. I'm happy that my body works that the stars aligned. But I've spent most of the first trimester being angry, upset and anxious. I really thought I was ready. Those hormones on top of everything that happened with Sarah just brought me back to a bad place.

Turns out you can't outrun it. Trauma forever changes you, for better or worse.

I wanted to wait to tell the kids for as long as possible. Like maybe until I was waddling. I wanted to wait because I didn't want to hurt them. I never wanted them to live in a world where babies die. Where their sister dies. And how horrible would it be for that to happen more than once? 

Except that's me. Those are my feelings. Not theirs.

So we told them, earlier this week. Jonah had this beautiful smile and Rach totally ignored us. It only took him a moment to process and ask if this baby would die too. Of course, we gave him the honest answer - that we hoped not and that most babies do live.

The next morning he lashed out, using hurtful words to express his fear. I should have expected it. But I didn't - at least not quite so soon.

How do you allow yourself to get attached, knowing your last baby died? How do you teach your kids to do what you fear most? 

So this is what I'm working on. 

I spoke with my dear friend Rebecca, who faced a similar dilemma, after being told her baby would likely not survive outside the womb. How do you go on, knowing that you may be disappointed and crushed the biggest way possible? 

And she's so right. SO right. I don't regret loving Sarah. I don't regret the nights she kept me awake, kicking my bladder and making me eat midnight snacks. I don't regret the joy she brought to our family, or the big grin she put on my face while I was picking out matching sister dresses for her and Rachel. I don't regret it one bit.

I'm scared and exhausted, still. But I'm going to do it with love.

Again

We waited a year. A year to do all the firsts without Sarah. A year to be angry, sad, and accept. A year to want no other baby but Sarah. But now... Now we know there is still so much love to give. And the only way to do that is to start the journey again. Brave, hopeful and scared. And pregnant, again.

Space

So many wonderful friends and family joined us on Black Friday at the cemetery for Sarah's stone unveiling. It officially marked year of mourning, a year of everything moving way too fast and at the same time creeping along, dreadfully slow. 

My kids did well at the ceremony, and eventually, when Rachel became antsy, I reached into my pocket to find a distraction. Gloves, tissues.... And a shiny pink jewel.  Which she promptly place atop Sarah's marker. (You can see it nestled on the right side of the stone.)  

Never has such a crammed space felt so comforting to look at.

No, you remember correctly

Sarah's death came two months after Jonah started Kindergarten.  He was terribly proud that he already had one sister, Rachel. And he was so very excited to tell his class that he was going to soon have TWO sisters.

I never did get the hang of his Kindergarten school year. Figuring out the school culture, the special sharing days, the school spirit events. Even things like birthday parties and play dates, I just avoided. Socializing and making small talk was the last thing I wanted to do.

Luckily, my better half is much more socially adept than me and did manage to get Jonah to several birthday parties, where they both had a blast.

But Jonah's now in first grade, and he's made it abundantly clear that he is an Aspiring Social Butterfly. If there is a chance to play with friends, he wants IN.

So I summoned my courage, and I escorted him to a classmate's party at the Y this evening. I was hoping to drop him off and run out, but he insisted that I stay. And while it was likely good that I stick around (holy boy party craziness) it left me in the not-so-enviable position of having to chat with folks I really don't know well.

Telling people that Sarah died makes me die a little inside, each time. And sure enough, when I introduced myself to the lovely mama who was hosting the party, there were several awkward moments where she wondered where the baby was - and me trying to not die as I explained that yes, I was pregnant last time she saw me, but no, there is no baby.

It's only the second time it has happened. And yet I feel like I brace for it every day. Because it's the most innocent of conversations - the basis for all conversations with a fellow mom: how many kids do you have? How old are they?

Nothing's true and nothing's right

Throughout this entire ordeal, I find people often refer to me as "strong." Which still baffles me, because I don't really see myself like that at all.

I've made lots of decisions, in this post-Sarah world, to keep my family intact. I get out of bed every day, not because I always want to, but because my kids need me. I stay up late at night, watching zombie movies with my husband, because I need Us to laugh. (Yes, at zombie movies.)  And occasionally, I make myself do something nice for myself (like accept help) because I know it is the right thing to do.

Like lots of things in life, sometimes you have to fake it until you make it true. I don't think that makes me strong. But I do think it makes me determined. That while Sarah's loss will always be in my heart, I can't let it be the end of me or of Us.

One

Yesterday Sarah should have been one.

We should have:
+ watched Sarah take her first steps, likely last week according to how her siblings rolled
+ had a fantastic Halloween birthday party
+ fed Sarah a gooey piece of cake
+ let a wobbly walker climb into a wet pile of leaves

Instead, we cried a lot. Hugged a lot. And rejoiced with our friends that love can carry us through.