I don't know if I can start fresh until I count the blessings (along with the sorrows) of the past. I have a beautiful, smart, crazy, sassy two year old little girl. I have an awesome husband. A stupid dog. I have a few really good friends. We've made really smart financial decisions. I have an incredibly supportive family. I've successfully once again claimed the title of "a runner." We've known the hope of having another child.
Enter the sorrows. We had a small heart scare with Parker (everything is fine). We've lost a few really precious friends and family members...one of which was our son. After trying for nearly a year we found out last year on Mike's birthday that I was pregnant. After 12 weeks, perfect check-ups and a perfect ultrasound, Parker announced the upcoming arrival of her little sidekick. For really no specific reason other than God's perfect plan, I went into labor with and delivered that sweet boy at 17 weeks on December 9. He was genetically and developmentally perfect. He had his sister's profile and he had his Daddy's heart and his Mama's soul from the moment he was born.
Now--I have to stop and state the obvious and say, I'm a worrier. Anyone who knows me well at all knows this! I think too much. I know too much. I've unfortunately wondered in the past what it would feel like to lose a child. I think that's every mother, soon to be mother or future mother's biggest fear. To miscarry. There's really no way to describe it other than to say; instead of hope and excitement for his future, we only felt sorrow and heart shattering dread at the thought of having to bury him. Leave him. The idea of coming home and telling our too smart little girl that there isn't a baby in her Mommy's belly anymore and that her little brother went to Jesus' birthday isn't something I think I could do again. No...it was only due to some kind of superhuman strength that I got through it the first time.
Like I said from the beginning: blessings and sorrows.
32 was an eye opening, time to grow up, year for me. There are lots of things that don't make sense anymore and when you see first hand just how short and delicate life can be, you don't waste so much time on those things. I come home to my family as quick as I can after work. I try to say I'm sorry when I screw up. I spend birthday weekends in Branson with my family. I plan a day to plant flowers by my Son's grave with my Grandma and my Mama.
Even though the sorrows left some really deep marks that won't ever go away, 32 made me better for 33. I have a pretty amazing husband, an incredible daughter, a Son in heaven and a future filled with a lot of hope. I know that bad times may come. I have no idea how I'll handle it...one thing's for certain though...I won't have to do it alone.
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