I've been asked a lot these past few weeks how I'm doing. It's not a bad question, it's a very natural one. And one that lets me know people are still thinking about us and remember Lucas, so I appreciate it. But it's given me a lot of reason to think through my answer.
Ultimately, some days are better than others. Some days I can run and play with Hannah. Some days here little giggle makes my heart soar. Some days I can enjoy her. (I should state Warren and Dean are gone this week...) But other times I can hardly get out of bed. I want to curl up in a ball and hide from the world. I find myself absentmindedly rubbing my belly before I remember with a start that all that remains is a pudgy reminder of the child I once carried. And then I cry this big, ugly cry, and Hannah gives me this look like Mommy's gone crazy. And so the cycle goes...
When I think about it though, I'm not as angry anymore. Still a bit bitter and jealous of all the other women who seem to have it all so easy, who go through pregnancy without a care, who conceive the exact weekend they want, and then have the audacity to complain in front of me about their pregnancy symptoms. But mostly, I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed that the God of the universe, my heavenly Father, who I can think of as "Daddy," is letting this happen. That the first pregnancy when I trusted Him, when I wasn't overcome with anxiety and worry, ended like this. I know better than most that babies die, we learned that with Reagan. I know that pregnancy can be filled with complications and end with severe prematurity, we learned that with Warren and Dean. And I know that I can think everything is about to go wrong, live in fear for 8 long months, waiting for terrible news that is never delivered; we learned that with Hannah. But this time? Well, this time I really trusted God. I never thought something would go wrong. I had only a few brief moments of anxiety, once when I didn't feel him for a few days around 18 weeks, and once as I approached 21/22 weeks when we lost Reagan and I went into labor with the twins. I feel like my Daddy has failed me, that He has let me down. Again. That He didn't take care of me. Or Lucas. And though I know Lucas is actually very much taken care of, that He is loved beyond what I could ever do, I'm not really strong enough to remember that in the daily moments. I just miss my sweet little boy too much.
I had great plans for this week, this time with just Hannah and Lucas. I was going to put the twin's room together with their big boy beds and their new bedding, as we transitioned their old cribs into Lucas' room. I was going to get everything ready for Lucas' arrival as, now in the 3rd trimester, I knew he could potentially arrive at any time. And now, I'm sitting in a quiet house while Hannah naps. My new to-do list includes boxing up my maternity clothes, cancelling our diaper subscription, unsubscribing from pregnancy emails, and trying to stop the auto shipments of the medications that were going to help keep me from going into labor. How much can one endure?