Babies, babies, everywhere babies

Yes, it's a part of life. People are going to have babies. And when you're in your early thirties and at the prime baby making time, everyone around you will be getting pregnant and having babies. That is, everyone but me. I know I sound a little pathetic and that I'm feeling sorry for myself, but that's because I'm feeling sorry for myself. 

In the last week alone, 2 women I know have had their babies. Of course, I'm thrilled for them. It's such an amazing blessing. But I want to get pregnant too. I want to bring my baby home. I want to get over this "hump" of loss and onto the next chapter of getting pregnant again.

I'm a good mom. No, I'm an awesome mom! I love my son more than life itself and I desperately want another child, a sibling for Mason, but it's just not coming so easy.

The saying goes that "Timing is everything". I know that God's timing is not always the same as my timing (probably something to do with the fact that he's the God of the universe and doesn't have the same concept of time that we do). But none the less, I'm trying to be so patient and wait on His time. But all I really want to do is scream from the top of my lungs that I'm sick of waiting! I'm sick of feeling like the only one around me who can't conceive. I'm angry that I have to think about the anniversary of my son's death next month rather than celebrating his life. 

Today I need the strength to just keep going. 

When the joy outweighs the pain

It's taken almost a year, but I know now that I've finally arrived at the place where the joy and blessing of potentially being pregnant again and having another baby outweighs all the pain of losing Robert or the fear of losing another baby.

Of course I'll never forget what it feels like to say goodbye to my son, but I also know the pure joy of welcoming my new child into the world. 

I know what it feels like to to labor for twelve hours. To hold a tiny, lifeless child only to leave with empty arms from the hospital. But I also know the feeling of having a warm, beautiful, healthy baby in my arms. 

I know what it feels like to walk through the valley and to announce to all your friends and family that your son is gone. To prepare for a memorial service. To decide between burial and cremation. To wake and see a tiny urn every morning. But I also know utter elation of calling to tell everyone that a new life is here. To hear the congratulations and the joy in their voices. To know that people are genuinely excited for your family.

I know what it feels like to miss a son every day. To grieve the milestones. To miss planning the first Christmas or birthday. But I know how it feels to enjoy the last four years of everything amazing and special that Mason has experienced.

So when I weigh it all, I'd do it again. The bitter and the sweet. Life brings us valleys so we can appreciate the mountain tops. And there are a lot more valleys or heading up & down the mountain than there times on top. So much so that if we're not careful, we just may miss it. 

When you know you've hit your limit

I know it's been some time since I've written anything on this blog. Overall, life has been good. We're caught up in the whole TTC thing again and it's just enough to keep my mind off of other things; for a while, anyways. 

It was such a blessing to celebrate Mason's 4th birthday on Monday. Celebrating with friends was fun and crazy and Mason was loving it. But it's amazing how even in the middle of a celebration, the loss of Robert can hit me. Three babies and one pregnant woman at our party. Which is fine, but throw in the non-stop baby/pregnancy talk and I felt like I was in a black-hole. I had to keep myself busy or go outside just so I didn't break out in tears. Who knows, maybe someday I'll want to swap pregnancy and delivery stories again, but not now. What so many people quickly forget is that my last delivery didn't turn out so well. I was in labor for 12 hours and delivered and held a baby that I didn't get to bring home. I won't get the milestones of rolling over, crawling, first words. I won't get to celebrate his first birthday or any birthdays. I don't get to wake up and snuggle and nurse my son every morning. Instead, I wake up every morning and see his remains in a tiny urn on my dresser. Yes, I know that's not Robert, but it's the only way I even know it was all real. That's my reality. 

And another thing. Yes, it was nine months ago. But guess what? I'm NOT OVER IT! I'll never be over losing Robert. Yes, it gets a little more manageable over time, but there's not a day that goes by that I don't think about my son. And even when we eventually do get pregnant again, I still won't be over it. One child doesn't replace another child.

Yes, it's a fine line. I don't want people walking on egg shells around me, afraid that what they'll say will upset me. But I want people to be aware that careless words hurt. When you're friends with someone and love them, you need to be aware of the balance. It's a give and take on both sides and at this point, I've reached my limit. Now, do I think that my friends were trying to intentionally hurt me by what they were saying? No. Do I think that it went overboard with all the pregnancy/baby talk? Absolutely! Guess what ladies, we love our kids and families. But we are still women who can talk about things other than allergies, diapers and hiccups ad nauseam. 

A loaded question

When someone knows that you're a mom, the first, most natural question is to ask about your children. How many kids do you have? What are their names and ages? So when I'm in situation where I know I'll be meeting and talking to moms who don't know my history, I find myself scrambling to decide what I will say. If I say I have one child, then I feel like I'm letting Robert down. But if I say I have two, then I'll have to explain the loss, and let's face it, people just don't want to hear about a baby that died. I could say, "I have one living child," but in my experience, that's also a major downer to people. I've seen the conversation abruptly stop with that one, too. 

I hate that I even have to think about things like this.

Comparing hurts and losses

I've noticed recently how many people try to compare losses. I've heard over and over again for the last eight months from friends and other women that their own loss was not as "bad" as mine because they were only in the first trimester and didn't have to go through labor and delivery. On the other hand, I've known people to say that because I was not full-term that it wasn't as bad as "so-and-so's loss". My best advice about comparing losses: Don't do that. Comparing hurts and losses is a waste of time. Just because I lost my son in my second trimester doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt as much or it's not as much of a loss for a friend who lost a baby at 8 weeks pregnant. Walk in someone else's shoes for a day and see if you still want to compare.

I'm so glad that God doesn't compare or prioritize our hurts against anyone else. Can you imagine if he was saying, "Well Katy, I have this women over here who delivered a few weeks later than you, so she's hurting more and needs me more than you do." No way! God knows our hearts and our hurts, and they are all just as important to him. Wouldn't it be great if we could all treat each other with the same kind of love and respect?

Sometimes I feel out of place

My life and overall perspective has changed so much in the last year that sometimes I just don't know where I "fit". I've been in this world of grief and loss for almost eight months and it sets me apart from my prior life and the people in it. And while I've met new, wonderful people who share my same journey of loss, I just don't want to stay in that world forever. On the other hand, there is always a new gap between the people I knew before losing Robert. I can feel it, even though I've accepted it. Especially with those friends who were pregnant at the same time I was, because they've all had their babies by now. 

I can feel a new season beginning. One that doesn't feel so sad, but hopeful. Not that I will ever forget my son, I just know that my life is continuing and it feels right. Even so, I know that I am still allowed to have sad moments or even days and more importantly, that it's okay. 

I was at the zoo with Mason on Thursday. We went with a dear friend of mine and her two kids. At one point, her daughter (almost 5 y/o) was hugging and kissing on her little brother (almost 8 months old) and I found myself feeling sad. I felt sad for the little brother that Mason does not have here. I know how much Mason loves babies and how sweet he is with them. I know what a wonderful big brother he will be.

One of those days

Today, I'm just tired. The whole TTC thing can really start to wear on you and I could seriously see myself slipping back into a depression if I didn't watch myself. I'm also sick with a head cold and pushing myself pretty hard lately. I often find myself trying to be everything to everyone and my physical, mental and spiritual health wear thin. 

Most people think I'm doing so well, which for the most part, I am. But there are still those days when I feel like I'm just barely hanging on.