A Jumble of Thoughts

Here we are. He'll be three weeks old in a matter of hours and I'm a stay-at-home-mom for the very first time in my life. It's weird. It's humbling. It's (sometimes) boring. It's wonderful.

I was speaking with a friend the other day about this phenomenon. She lost her firstborn as well and has now been staying home with her second child for the last couple months. She still has the itch. The itch for a life outside of the SAHM world. I do too. I still love and cherish my career as a teacher and I'm thankful that I'll be starting another graduate course next week. It will give me that sense of fulfillment that is different than being a mother. Though I have to say-- staring at his beautiful face makes me really thankful I had another chance. I try not to think about how this should've been my life all along-- how 15 months ago, I should've been a SAHM to my son. Now here with B, I want so desperately to have two boys in my home. What would it be like to be a mother of two living boys? It's a dream I allow myself to wonder about quite frequently in the middle of the night while I sit breastfeeding (exclusively!) my second son-- Andrew's little brother. The sound of Andrew and Benjamin makes my heart sing. It's cheesy to say, but it's really true. I love the sound of their names together and just wish they were both physically here.

My parents came to visit this weekend. They held in their arms a baby that was mine. And it was totally, incredibly special. I can't help but think that it was even more special because I know how much we've all experienced and lost to get to a point of livelihood. We had to endure a pregnancy and birth of a son/grandson so desperately wanted-- a first grandchild to both sides of our family-- a loss, a miscarriage, and then another pregnancy and birth all to reach this point. My parents are proud. There's no doubt they'd make amazing grandparents to our two boys. Oh how I wish I could present that as reality. I haven't cried as many tears since B has arrived, but I sit here right now typing in a pool of sobs. I hear the coos in the background of a sweet little boy and finally my home is not silent. The doors are open and the nursery is walked in. The items are getting used. Some will never be used and I'm okay with that. Andrew has a piece of our lives and hearts, physically and emotionally. His name is still on the wall in the nursery and his little train toy that bears his name is still on the bookshelf. I don't know when I will be able to bring myself to take it down. I have nothing to replace it with. B doesn't sleep in there anyway and in many ways, it still feels like they share the space. The memories, hopes, dreams, and love of Andrew still cloud the room itself-- at least to me. I feel the presence of them both.

First neighborhood walk

Meeting his grandparents!

I have so many emotions. Most of them revolve around love, but many around fear. I fear, still, that B will be taken from us. I know too much. I've noticed a little redness that lines his eyelids and I have a fear that he has some incurable sickness. I'm aware that it's just my BLM tendencies striking me down, but it's hard to bury them. They're all I've known and immersed myself in for the past 15 months. It's the reality I live in having a son who left this earth far sooner than any child ever should.

My mind is everywhere, but mostly just thankful. B is such an innocent being that has no clue his parents are so totally emotionally screwed up. He doesn't know how hard we have fought to start a family and how sad that makes us. I don't ever want to burden him with that reality, but it almost seems impossible to hide.

In less somber news, I went for a jog for the first time since June and it felt amazing. I also had a Goose Island IPA and felt unable to drive. My love for cooking has not ceased. My love for the husband and a couple little boys is certainly what I've been focusing most of my energy on though.

Hi, I'm naked baby.