Letting Go

Most days I choose to see the possibilities.  The room that could be anything.  The furniture longing to be purchased.  The perfect space for friends, grandparents, and, someday, sleepovers.

But some days, when I’m truly being honest with myself, I see the empty space.  The hole meant to be filled by one last little one.

Some days I stare longingly at the perfect spot to place the crib, just to left of the window, where the morning light filters through the soft white plantation shutters.

Some days I rock quietly in the glider, the one that I could never quite convince myself to give away.  Just.  In. Case.  Other days I catch a glimpse of it, frozen in time, and wonder just what to do.

By day, I enjoy each moment.  I lose myself in play, reading aloud, and endless art projects.  I listen to each word carefully, burning their little voices across my memory.  I watch with pride and fascination while taking screen shots in my mind, every chance I get.  I hang on tight as I watch them grow and change right before my very eyes.

Time escapes me, no matter how hard I try to hit the brakes.

By day, I build memories.

By day, I am reminded that my family is perfect just the way it is.

But when darkness falls, my broken heart emerges once again.

By night, I am flooded with emotions.

Images of the final loss threaten to crowd out the happiness I find within the day.  Memories of the event leave me shaken to my core:  The look of desperation on my husband’s face.

This can’t be happening…

The whispers of the nurses as they ushered me into emergency surgery.

We will pray for you…

The signing and more signing of last minute waivers.

You mean I might die in there?

The final goodbye.

Just.  In.  Case.

Some nights I lie awake, clutching my empty womb, while muffled sobs escape my aching soul.

Some nights, the empty space feels bigger than others.  Some nights, it overwhelms me.

I am the lucky one, I tell myself.  I am the one with two amazing children and a husband who loves me beyond compare.

I am strong, resilient, and always a fighter.

And yet, at times, the sadness creeps in.  The what-ifs cause my heart to race while the you-should-haves force the tears to escape.

Sometimes the letting go is the hardest part.

Dreams change.  Life moves forward.  But emotions stay with us for as long as we allow.

So, for right now, that rocking chair is staying put.

Because sometimes you just need to dream…




Everything’s Not Lost

Mommy Moment 
Today on Mommy Moment I shared our very personal journey through multiple pregnancy losses and infertility.  Please join me in opening the doors to discussing this often very private and lonely topic.  I appreciate any input, and would love for you to share this with anyone who might benefit from reading it.
“We were young and naïve (make that ill-informed) when we decided to start “trying”.  I was 29 years young.  Old by mother’s standards, but right on target with my friends.  All around me people were having babies.  One by one my girlfriends announced their exciting news.  It was time for us to give it a try.  Who knew the word “try” would take on a whole new meaning?”…
Please stop by my post, “Everything’s Not Lost”, at Mommy Moment to continue reading.
Thank you, as always, for your kindness and support.

Rockin’ The Baby


I almost didn’t do it.  I almost stopped myself from linking up with so many of my blogging buddies for this one.  But then I read through a number of the posts already linked up to Shell’s amazing Rockin’ The Baby link up this week and decided that I had to share my babies too. How could I miss this one?  I worked long and hard to have my babies…they should join the fun too!

Riley came first.  She was truly a miracle to us, after two miscarriages and nearly three years of trying.

Riley Ann (three days old)

I look at her now and I can’t believe it.  She’s 4 1/2 years old!  She’s sweet, energetic, talkative (make that very talkative), athletic, creative, imaginative, and beautiful beyond belief (ok, so I’m a bit biased).

Riley Ann (4 1/2 years old...what happened to my baby?)

Another miscarriage and 21 months later, Liam arrived.  After the third miscarriage, we worried that Riley would be on her own. There are no words to describe how truly grateful we were when Liam was born.  Riley loved him from the minute she saw him (except when he learned how to grab her stuff…that came as a shock).

Liam James (three days old)

2 1/2 years later, Liam is now fond of telling me that he’s not actually a baby anymore.  “I’m a big guy mommy”, is his favorite quote. But sometimes he lets me get away with it.  I suspect that he likes being my baby at times.  Liam is a love.  He’s mellow, kind, obsessed with cars, funny (he’s the joker of the family, much like his Papa), talkative (make that just as talkative as his sister), energetic, and possibly a little bit musical (only time will tell on that one, but he can belt out a number of John Mayer songs word for word without any assistance and can name many tunes in four notes).

Liam James (2 1/2 years old...still my baby...no matter what he says!)

They are my sweet little babies (no matter how big they are).

This is their favorite pose..."look at this hug, Mommy!"

I almost didn’t do it.  It was almost too difficult.  About a month ago, I had yet another miscarriage.  This time, I was almost five months pregnant.  I am told that it was bizarre.  That it made no sense.  That it was exceedingly rare and never should have happened.  I wish that made it easier.  One month ago, I said goodbye to a baby boy.  A boy I had named.  A boy I had loved.  A boy I can’t get back.

When the nights are hard and it feels unfair, I have my two beautiful children to remind me that life is actually quite amazing.  I find happiness in them every day.  I find love and peace in our little family of four.  And, at the end of the day, that is more than enough.

Thank you Shell, for helping me remember that my babies will always be my babies.