Twenty Nine Weeks: Game Day

September 20, 2014

Twenty Nine Weeks

Little Tiny Human,

Your dad and I love college football. It's the truth.

No I don't just love college football so I can wear the cute teams shirts and bake fun mascot-shaped cookies; your momma actually loves college football.

Today I'm sure you got to hear the spirit in our house firsthand. This morning we hung the Nebraska and LSU flags outside to show our spirit and we started the day with donuts and College Gameday. But today both the Nebraska Game and the LSU game were night games, so we settled down on the couch and prepared for a night of victory.

We actually had two screens going at the same time so we could stay tuned in to both games. And I'm sure you heard all the yelling. Nope, you're daddy doesn't yell at the TV during the games; he lives and breathes Nebraska football, but it wasn't him yelling. That was me. I'm not sure if they can here me all the way down south but for some reason I think if I yell 'stop him' loud enough that the defense will get a little extra pep in their step.

Tonight your daddy's team won. But tonight my team lost, apparently they couldn't quite hear me.

But I will tell you that here in this house your momma cheers until the very last minute. I don't care if the other team is 5 touchdowns ahead and we've got two minutes left on the clock and the other team has the ball. Your momma still thinks we can win. And you know what, sometimes, we do.

So just so you know what all the ruckus was about. And just so you know who that is in the stands yelling at you on the football field someday. It's me. I'm your momma. And I won't ever give up on you.

Love always,
Mom

I Am Ready.

These are just a few words that I've written over the past few months. I'm sharing them today because they are a picture of what life after loss looks like even nine months later, even with another baby on the way. Some words are those written through tears and some are those of the continued hope and healing that I am so grateful to the Lord for.

September 23, 2014

It's hard for me to try to describe how today felt. I'm not sure if it felt more like spring and freshness and new beginnings or if it felt like the cool crisp air of fall when things are ending and falling but watching it happen is so very beautiful.

But today was very good.

I think it was today that I fell in love with my little boy.

Yes, I've loved him for a while now, but today was something different. Today we watched his little face on the ultrasound as he made the best expressions. When that little man got tired and snuggled his little head under his arm he looked just like his daddy on a Saturday morning. Maybe that's why God makes our kids look like us, seeing Kyle in this little boy made me fall so deeply in love with him.

Today I returned to work with ultrasound pictures in hand and I became 'that mom.' Oh you, you who is halfway down the hall, stop right there I want to show you a picture of my baby! Isn't he the cutest? Can you see his cute little nose?

That was me.

I told Kyle that today for some reason things started to feel more real. It felt like maybe this time when the pregnancy was over, that we'd have a little tiny human to take home with us.

Today was also a time of great accomplishment for me. 

One of my dear friends had her baby this morning and I got to run over to the hospital, cookies in hand, and see that little baby girl. She, unlike the other new babies I've met in the past year, has not only been the only girl born, but the only one to be born at the same hospital as our Hannah.

As I thought about the visit I knew it was time to write the thank you notes that I'd put off for nine months. I wanted so badly for the nurses we had in December to know how well they loved us. I needed them to know how much they were a blessing to us. And although I'm not sure if they've ever wondered about us, I wanted them to know how we were doing. Writing those letters felt wonderful. 

I picked up cookies for my friend and for the two nurses to whom I'd written the letters and, well, I grabbed a cookie for me too. I parked in the parking garage and I walked right up to the front of the hospital. I stopped for half a moment when I realized this was where I'd gotten into our empty car nine months ago. This was where we went home empty-handed.

But I took a deep breath of the cool air and I kept walking.

I actually had a few minutes so I went and pre-registered for our delivery. Last year I pre-registered two days before we would return to the hospital again. There they would go on to tell me 'oh we'll use new paperwork because you're just here for monitoring, that way the paperwork you already filled out will be ready for when you actually come to deliver the baby.' Turns out it was all one trip. And so the lady behind the desk today said that same statement, reminding me that if I came in for monitoring that I would fill out more paperwork... I didn't really need reminding. But she was just doing her job; she didn't know.

And then I stepped onto the elevator and I rode to the fourth floor. And when I got off I thought it would be harder to walk down that hallway.

But it wasn't.

I felt so brave somehow. I walked in and left my letters and cookies at the nurses station. The nurse behind the desk was so helpful and then just like that I went to meet the little girl that had been born.

As I was leaving I had this great feeling. Yes it felt like fall because I think that visit felt more like Hannah, but that somehow the leaves falling reminded me that spring would be coming soon after. That I'd return to this hospital someday soon to have our little boy.

There are no promises that I'll leave with him in my arms, but I'm ready. I'm hopeful. And I'm not afraid.

Oh how the Lord gives us strength when we have none of our own. 

Oh how he created the seasons to teach us so many things.

Two.

These are just a few words that I've written over the past few months. I'm sharing them today because they are a picture of what life after loss looks like even nine months later, even with another baby on the way. Some words are those written through tears and some are those of the continued hope and healing that I am so grateful to the Lord for.

This is a bit of a follow-up to a post I wrote not too long ago. This post will probably make much more sense if you read that one first. Go ahead, click over, it's short.

September 26, 2014

I stopped saying yes.

The more I walk around and the more my belly grows, the more people ask.

I don't know if it's like when you buy Chacos and then you notice that 'everyone' is wearing them, but all the time, everywhere, people ask:

"Is this your first?"

And I feel so strong because now, now I say, "our second."

And I smile.

And you know what they do. They smile back and they say things like is this one a boy or a girl? And then then they ask what about your first?

And you know what I say? I say, "a girl."

And I smile.

And usually they end it right there and say something like "you're so lucky" or "congratulations" or "good luck."

And I agree. I am so very lucky. Even if I can't hold either of them today, soon I'll hold our little boy, and yes, I am very, very lucky to be the mother of two.

"Thank you for asking," I got to talk about my little girl today.

Is this your first?

These are just a few words that I've written over the past few months. I'm sharing them today because they are a picture of what life after loss looks like even nine months later, even with another baby on the way. Some words are those written through tears and some are those of the continued hope and healing that I am so grateful to the Lord for.

August 29, 2014

When you're in college people tend to ask you when you'll meet someone. And once you meet someone people tend to ask you when you'll get married. And then once you get married people tend to ask when you'll have kids. I've been told that once you have kids people continue to ask when you'll have the next kid.

People are always asking questions.

And I'm sure I'm one of them. 

I'm sure I've asked many questions before about things that aren't my business. I'm sure some things were the things that make up small talk and I'm sure, actually I did it just the other day, I'm certain many of the questions I have asked have invoked awkward, uncomfortable responses.

I'm sorry.

I don't pretend like I need anyone to change or like I'd change even if I could. 

But when you're obviously pregnant, you get a lot of questions. Some are general and some way too specific or personal. Some people ask while awkwardly rubbing your belly and looking deep into your soul and you're thinking "I've never seen you other than in this aisle at the Brookshire's" Mostly they make me laugh. I'm not easily offended...

But there's one that's the hardest for me to answer. It reminds me that they do not know, and I pause for just a moment every time wondering what to say.

They look at my belly and they ask, "Is this your first?"

The easy answer is yes.

But the truth is no.

But I know that the 'no' comes with follow up questions. I know if I pause too long after the 'no' that they will most certainly ask things like 'oh how many others do you have?' and 'boys or girls?' and 'how old are they?' And then I know I have to tell them.

But I just can't say 'yes'.

So I say 'no' and then so quickly I blurt out something like, 'well but we lost our first, but it's okay, and this one's a boy. My husband is thrilled!' And I know that if I can quickly equate my daughter to a sock in the laundry room that somehow disappeared into the spin cycle that I can get them excited about the boy we are having, and then and only then can I steer the direction to something less awkward.

But then I spend the next few hours thinking about equating my daughter to a lost sock.

She isn't something I just 'lost' one day.

I think about how when people ask about the number of children I have that they're just being polite and that they really don't want the entire story, but my heart wants so bady to follow the 'no' with something like:

"No. Last year we had our first daughter. She was eight pounds and three ounces and 21.5 inches long. She was beautiful, and she has been my greatest joy to love. But she died last December before I even got to hold her. I miss her every day. But I thank the Lord that I was blessed with such a great love for her, and I thank the Lord for his truth and his goodness and his comfort and his love because I have gotten to know Him in the past 8 months in ways I never imagined."

But that's not what they were asking.

They aren't ready for that much.

But I just can't quite bring myself to say 'yes.'