Longing

It hits me every now and then and I never know when it's coming. It surprises me that it's been almost seven weeks and I still struggle to this degree. I still battle tears, still have to control my breathing. A simple sentiment, a string of words, a calendar date and I am sad again.

I long for the baby I just lost.

I miscarried our first baby, before Noah, and experienced grief like I'd never had before. Devastation over losing this little life I'd imagined and all that comes with it. The exciting newness of my first pregnancy, the wonder over tiny baby clothes, the scraps of paper with potential names scribbled on them, the anticipation of the sweet scents that come with a baby.

All lost when we found out the heart was no longer beating.

There was confusion and guilt over what I could've done differently. Many, many "what ifs." Doctors and loved ones told me there was nothing I could've done differently. Sometimes, however, though the head understands, the heart does not. And as much I struggled to make sense of it, the bottom line was this...

Little Boy. Little Girl. I wanted you.

Comfort eventually came because I have a God who cares so deeply He records every tear. And while May 7, 2003 will always be the day I thought I'd become Mommy, I was sustained and at peace. God is my hope and I trusted God had a plan for when we would become Mommy and Daddy. I know the One who designed me also has a plan for me. I take great comfort in knowing I will meet my son or daughter in heaven someday.

2004 and 2006. Two little boys born. Funny enough, Noah's name means "comfort." So, yes, Comfort eventually came.

Loves of my life. Heart of my heart. Core of me. In my soul. Love like no other.

I am Mommy. So now, my heart has left my body and walks around in cowboy boots, mismatched clothes, sweaty skin and the smell of sunshine. Two little people I want to breathe in, soak up, never let go of. I love being Mommy.

So, why not another? After living the challenge of raising two boys less than two years apart in age, we decided we'd wait three years before our next. As the three year mark approached, we neither charted nor prevented. We simply let it be. Pregnancy came soon and we were elated. Little boy...little girl? We would be thrilled with either.

Then, March 16th. Early wake up to tend to my Tyler, suffering from a stomach virus. Not at all expecting blood when I make a quick pit stop.

And, the rest is hard to write because it is still very raw. I have pushed away my memories as much as possible because it is too difficult to face the details. But there was this...denial, fear, panic. Am I losing my baby? No, no, no, no. Lots of no's stream from my lips and way deep in my soul. I couldn't look. I couldn't flush. My panicked mind lost all sense of logic and thought that if I could keep my legs together and try to calm my heartrate, I might be able to hold it in. This cannot be happening again.

By 10:00, we know. It did happen again.

Again, devastation over losing the life I'd imagined. Confusion and guilt over what I could've done differently. Many, many "what ifs." The doctor hugged me and held me and told me it wasn't my fault. Sometimes, again, though the head understands, the heart does not.

And while much of the initial grieving was similar, there is something distinctly different. When I lost our first, I did not know Mother Love. I knew that I wanted my first child and that I was falling in love with it even at 12 weeks in the womb. I knew that the kind of love I was going to experience, come May 7th, would be like no other.

What I did not know was this. I did not know what it meant to love someone so deeply it turns you inside out. I did not know that there is nothing that quiets the soul like breathing in and gazing at your sleeping child. I did not know how good and right my child's hands would feel in mine. I did not know how a little one's voice could manipulate me - to tears when it asks forgiveness, to gut-busting laughter over ridiculous situations, to frustration over smart retorts, to wonder with it over bugs.

I did not know my heart could smell like sunshine and wear cowboy boots.

Noah taught me Mother Love. That is one of the most fulfilling things Noah has taught me. Tyler taught me what I wasn't sure was truly possible - how Mother Love has an incredible way of stretching so that another little soul fits in it. That is one of the most amazing things Tyler has taught me. So, I was prepared to love this next one. I was prepared for my heart to stretch even more and gather up this new little soul. In fact, it's safe to say I already loved this little one. Without knowing its name, how his or her hand fit in mine, without breathing in its sleeping self or even knowing its gender, my heart had already stretched to fit it in.

So, here I am...4 a.m. and mourning. The tears have come and gone through the paragraphs. I'm not even sure if I'm sounding coherent. Right now, I just am. I just am taking this day by day and trying not to have expectations or set limitations. Just am trying to experience these feelings as they come. Just am trying to live in the comfort of Christ. Just am trying to now slow down and let myself grieve as it's just been too hectic the last seven weeks. Just am trying to focus on the good in what's to come and not dwell on the details of what has happened.

Just am breathing in the scent of my floppy haired little boy who just found me at the computer. Just am wrapping him in his blanket and snuggling him in my lap. Just am planting long kisses on his baby face and finding peace in his sweet, silent smile and his brown eyes. Just am feeling the weight of his body as it rests so perfectly in my lap and against my chest. Just am resting my cheek against his hair and finding peace in the little voice that now wants to go get some socks on. Just am finding my heart stretching more as Little T rests his head on my shoulder, squeezes my neck, pulls back to look into my eyes and gently says, "Wuv you so much."

Thank you, God, that comfort always comes just as I need it.