This week my second son would have turned a year old.
Instead, I have a beautiful baby girl who’s just 11 weeks.
A handful of pictures and the feel of his tiny body fitting in the palm of my hand.
The mind doesn’t want to fit itself around the idea that if he had lived, the girl sleeping beside me would never have existed.
But they both exist. God knows the hairs on their heads and the number of their days. There is no alternate reality where we are blowing up balloons and wrapping presents and rejoicing in first steps. Jonah’s days only ever numbered in the dozens. And knowing that, God blessed me with him anyway.
I truly do mean blessed. I am not bitter, I am not angry, and while at times I wonder why, I know that there is never a good answer. It just is. He was perfect, he was growing, he was moving, he was ours. And then he was gone.
When last I was here, I didn’t even know I was pregnant. But I was. I would find out a week later while Jeff was away. The rest of my pregnancy will be another post. When I’m ready. I’m a little surprised to find that I’m not yet.
That time is from before. Before I became a woman of sorrows, acquainted with grief. Before life became so blatantly precarious.
Or perhaps precious is the word.
Yes. Precious. Blatantly, Glaringly, Wildly precious.
So here I am. Beginning anew. Starting fresh. So many things are in the process of changing, I don’t want to miss it.
The Rocket Scientist is heading off in a whole new direction. (Don’t worry, we’re going with him.)
Doodle is starting to learn. (At least in a more organized way.)
ZuZu is starting to talk. (Yes, it is a little late.)
We are all one day closer to my little Dove.
The Munchkin is just starting out.
And I? I am facing life in a whole new light. I have spent the last 8 years either trying to get pregnant, being pregnant, or getting over being pregnant so that I could get pregnant again. And now I’m done.
I’m kind of excited to see what’s next!