Lately, between my job, house, husband, and new baby boy, I've been pulled in about 1,000 different directions. Switching from diaper changes to lawyer think is an odd transition. I'm exhausted. I'm bone-tired. It's exhilarating.
I welcome it. I was bone tired last year at this time from grieving, from the constant ache of missing my daughter. Having her little brother here has been healing for me in a way I didn't anticipate. Now focusing on both of them, but with him in my arms, I can still ache for her, but it doesn't ache so bad. I don't feel it as strongly.
My son is 10 weeks old today. He has a social security card and a real, live birth certificate. And somehow by the grace of God, he's still alive. I'm astounded by it. I can't help it. Before him, I only knew the sadness of my child that had died, and it seemed as if that was destined to be my reality. Despite the rarity of these situations, I was convinced it would happen again. So far, it hasn't. So far I've changed countless dirty diapers, fed him countless bottles, given him a bath every night, and am always cleaning spit up from my clothes, and I am so so thankful for this.
One of the few items I have from Georgiana is the hospital blanket she was wrapped in. You know, the ones all the hospitals have, with the little multicolored baby footprints on them? Her little blankie has a small spot of urine from her body after she was wrapped up in it. My guess is that maybe only mamas that have lost will understand this, but there was a time when I would have given up my life to make sure nothing happened to that blanket and the little spot on it. It was a tangible reminder of her, that she existed here in bodily form. That little spot of urine connected me to her, and was, and still is, so so precious to me.
I am ecstatically happy to be able to change any diapers for my now living second child. It all gives me great joy, and I'm glad to have this perspective, though will never understand why it came at such a high price.
Tired. Overwhelmed. Grateful.