Lately

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.

4 weeks old

Dearest Davey,

You have brought so much light into my life and your daddy's life! You are such a character! You're just a dreamboat, both in your adorable little face and cute little body, and your easy personality. I am so excited to see what the future brings with you!

Your sister would have been 15 months old today. I know she watches over you. I love you both so much!

Mommy

Nearly a month in

I have so many things to say and yet am just left speechless most of the time lately.

I came home nearly a month ago from the hospital with a living child, my son.

I left the doors of the hospital holding an infant carrier. I spent the nights in the hospital with my second baby staring up into my eyes, alive, breathing.

We came home. Every cry, every breath, every gaze, is heaven.

I'm exhausted, exhilarated, fulfilled, and yes, still sad. Her brother coming home has brought on very intense grief and longing for my baby girl.

It's an odd existence, this happy and sad, but I spend most of my days right now humbled at the great gift we've been given in our little Davey, who is such a beautiful child and such a joy to us, and when he pierces the dark night with his cries, it overwhelms me with gratitude.

He looks like her in a lot of ways, and yet is definitely his own little person very separate from his sister. Yet I am glad to look at him and see the resemblances. I feel closer to her. I ask her to watch over him every time I place him in his bassinet. I am still afraid, and am getting that it never goes away. But I am so happy too.

Going to post some pics soon.

Joy

David William Illingworth III

"Davey"

Born May 24 at 8:10 a.m.

7 lbs 11 oz

20.5 inches

Our first son. A little brother. Our hearts overflow.

T-3 (give or take a few minutes) hours

It's 4:35 am. We have to be at the hospital at 5:45. I should be in the shower right now, but wanted to take a few minutes and remember how I feel in this moment.

I slept pretty fitfully last night, but I'm glad to have gotten any sleep at all. When I had imagined the night before, I figured I would have settled into a chair with my doppler all night long. As it was, I slept off and on, periodically checking his movement and heartbeat. I had odd dreams. Dreams that made me sad, where I was trying to explain to the L&D nurses that my daughter's name is spelled with one "n" and not 2.

By this time in my pregnancy, I had lived an entire life with my daughter in my mind and heart. I had pictured her running through the grass in a dress, 4 or 5 years old, with curly blond hair. I had pictured Saturday morning talk sessions lying in bed with her, like I used to do with my mom when I was a teenager.  I pictured watching her walk down the aisle to meet the man of her dreams for the rest of her life.

Then my heart was shattered, and that entire life of hers that I had lived in my heart was the only one I would ever see with her.

I have started to let myself think on this just this morning with my son. As I feel him move inside me, I'm starting to think this might really happen. That I might have a beautiful boy child to call my own, to call my son. That I will have a son when he is 2 years old cuddle with me and call me his mama. That I will have a smart, maybe quiet, thoughtful little boy, like his daddy, who sees the world around him and sees endless possibility in it, like me. That he will amble up to me as a gangly teenager and give me an awkward hug. That he will smile at me before he drops me off at my seat at his wedding, before he turns to wait for the woman of his dreams to meet him.

My heart is filled right now. With fear, yes. With some sadness for my girl. But also with joy.

All the emotions I have suppressed for this long and harrowing journey of carrying him are at the surface. I cannot wait to meet my son. This feels very different and separate from my time with Georgiana, and I am so grateful for it. I can feel her as she watches over us. I have asked her many times to take care of all of us, because we are afraid and we know that many things are out of our control.

Say prayers, everyone. Hope to see you on the other, happier side of this shortly.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to the strongest, most wonderful women I know--those mamas who have to endure this day missing one or more of their children.

We remember. We remember, and we celebrate all your babies, no matter where they are.

Two Week Countdown

As of today, there are 14 days left until I hopefully meet my son.

At this point, I am such a mix of emotions I'm starting to feel like they're all just canceling each other out. It's to the point where I just feel mute, and almost paralyzed about the whole thing.

It's like I don't want to talk too much about it because I don't want to invite tragedy again to my little corner of the universe. Just fly under the radar until we get to May 24.

This probably makes no sense, but it does just literally feel like I'm holding my breath. Like I'm stuck in one of those moments where you catch your breath, and you just stay that way. And there's nothing else you can do but keep holding on as the day approaches.

Nights and mornings have become really hard. I'm not getting a lot of sleep, and the mornings where I wake up and just happen to catch him at the beginning or middle of a sleep cycle damn near terrify me right now. I lay there, just begging him to move. He always does, eventually. It seems I'll have a day where I start to feel comfortable and actually start to believe in this happening, and then the next day I'm just filled with panic.

I'm hoping a little of this goes away after he's born? Ladies?

Most mornings, though, I look down and this is what I see down in the middle of my feet:

I'm not real sure how to break it to Quatro at this point, that after 5 years of sleeping in my bed, he's not going to be welcome here anymore in a couple of weeks. Poor little fuzzball.