Two Years Have Passed and I Still Think of You

A single flame, it flickers again. I watch the little shadow dance it plays on the wall across the room. I sit here nursing my son, my rainbow, my hope after the storm. I'm not sure where my emotions want to go. In some sense I am in acceptance. I understand what happened, I accept and while I'll never forget, I can move on. In another sense, I'm still hurt, I'm pissed that it happened. I don't think the pain of losing you, the roller coaster of emotions from ultrasound to OR will ever go away. You came in like a tiny butterfly, you barely left more than a whisper on this earth, but baby you were a quake in mine. Though it all happened so quickly, you shook me to the core, you shifted my foundation. I moved so swiftly after we lost you. I numbed for a short time, then went right back to trying to be me, but the truth is, I wasn't me and I never would be the same again. I've spent this last year still trying to figure out how to grieve your loss. At times I hate myself for not being more gentle with myself in those early days and allowing the journey of grief to go. I guess this is my prolonged journey, I'm learning how I personally will experience each stage of grief. I skipped around, jumped over many, and now am seeing what each of these stages looks like. As Tucker, my rainbow glances up at me with sleepy eyes, I'm at peace. I would not have this baby in my arms if it wasn't for you, my angel. You, in your brief existence in my womb taught me so many lessons, I've grown because of you. Sweet angel, I know God had bigger plans for you, He had more plans for me too. While the rest of the world didn't connect with you, I did. I feel you every day. Thank you for all you've given me, taught me, I thank you. 

Two Years Have Passed and I Still Think of You

A single flame, it flickers again. I watch the little shadow dance it plays on the wall across the room. I sit here nursing my son, my rainbow, my hope after the storm. I'm not sure where my emotions want to go. In some sense I am in acceptance. I understand what happened, I accept and while I'll never forget, I can move on. In another sense, I'm still hurt, I'm pissed that it happened. I don't think the pain of losing you, the roller coaster of emotions from ultrasound to OR will ever go away. You came in like a tiny butterfly, you barely left more than a whisper on this earth, but baby you were a quake in mine. Though it all happened so quickly, you shook me to the core, you shifted my foundation. I moved so swiftly after we lost you. I numbed for a short time, then went right back to trying to be me, but the truth is, I wasn't me and I never would be the same again. I've spent this last year still trying to figure out how to grieve your loss. At times I hate myself for not being more gentle with myself in those early days and allowing the journey of grief to go. I guess this is my prolonged journey, I'm learning how I personally will experience each stage of grief. I skipped around, jumped over many, and now am seeing what each of these stages looks like. As Tucker, my rainbow glances up at me with sleepy eyes, I'm at peace. I would not have this baby in my arms if it wasn't for you, my angel. You, in your brief existence in my womb taught me so many lessons, I've grown because of you. Sweet angel, I know God had bigger plans for you, He had more plans for me too. While the rest of the world didn't connect with you, I did. I feel you every day. Thank you for all you've given me, taught me, I thank you. 

Two Years Have Passed and I Still Think of You

A single flame, it flickers again. I watch the little shadow dance it plays on the wall across the room. I sit here nursing my son, my rainbow, my hope after the storm. I'm not sure where my emotions want to go. In some sense I am in acceptance. I understand what happened, I accept and while I'll never forget, I can move on. In another sense, I'm still hurt, I'm pissed that it happened. I don't think the pain of losing you, the roller coaster of emotions from ultrasound to OR will ever go away. You came in like a tiny butterfly, you barely left more than a whisper on this earth, but baby you were a quake in mine. Though it all happened so quickly, you shook me to the core, you shifted my foundation. I moved so swiftly after we lost you. I numbed for a short time, then went right back to trying to be me, but the truth is, I wasn't me and I never would be the same again. I've spent this last year still trying to figure out how to grieve your loss. At times I hate myself for not being more gentle with myself in those early days and allowing the journey of grief to go. I guess this is my prolonged journey, I'm learning how I personally will experience each stage of grief. I skipped around, jumped over many, and now am seeing what each of these stages looks like. As Tucker, my rainbow glances up at me with sleepy eyes, I'm at peace. I would not have this baby in my arms if it wasn't for you, my angel. You, in your brief existence in my womb taught me so many lessons, I've grown because of you. Sweet angel, I know God had bigger plans for you, He had more plans for me too. While the rest of the world didn't connect with you, I did. I feel you every day. Thank you for all you've given me, taught me, I thank you. 

Tomorrow you wake up another year older. Another year of watching you grow and mature has passed. It's been another year of learning, of rolling with the punches, struggling with the ups and downs. Another year of laughter and tears. A year of smiles, tantrums, dancing, wipe outs, singing, and screaming. It's been another year of us, me, you, and our family. 

As I look at you, I still see such a tiny body, but a body filled with so many emotions. I see you struggling to gain a handle on how to express yourself. I see your ups when you try something new and do really great at it (like climbing the rock wall). I see your downs when you get in trouble (like pushing your brother). I've watched our relationship change, mold if you will, over this past year. I've watched our mother-daughter spats begin to form. I see your strong willed personality shine so bright. I see you push the limits with your free spirited self. Sometimes I get so frustrated with your toddler antics, I lose my patience with you, I struggle when you don't listen, but Little Miss, I LOVE YOU! I love us! I love how because you are our first, we get to grow together, learn together. We are both new at this. Every day we wake up we're new at it, I've never had a three year old before, and you've never been three. Tomorrow we start our venture again out in to a new world, a new year of learning, growing, achieving. A new year of struggles, tantrums, and meltdowns (by both of us I'm sure). Today I'll hold you tighter, I'll hug you longer, I'll be what you need me to be, I'll be the best I can be. Today we cherish your last day in the "twos." Today we hold hands, hug, laugh, cry and know that this ever changing relationship is just ours. 

She's two. The changes that have occurred over the past two, well almost three years has been so much fun to watch. As Little Miss began talking and her language developed more and more, she had some phrases that were priceless! The kind of thing you know you should correct, but it is just too funny to tell her the proper way to say it. Today as she sat on the back porch, we got in to a spat because she wanted to do something I didn't think she should be doing (I gave in, because she's only two once). Anyways, as she yelled at me "I can do it", my heart sank a little bit. She sounded so grown and I realized she'd lost her adorably cute way of talking in third person. Just a month ago, she would have yelled "Lana dooood it!" It was just one snappy sentence that made me realize once again how quickly this life really does go by. Slow down! Enjoy those adorable toddler phrases because they will be gone way sooner than you think.

We Still Have Sunny Days

I'm not quite sure when this journey really began. Perhaps it's always been there brewing and just waiting to find the right time to strike. Maybe it just began postpartum, or maybe there has been another trigger. Regardless, it's been a journey and the journey still goes on. 

I've committed to being open and sharing snippets, but I don't want it all to come across as hard, or like I'm seeking for an "I'm sorry" because that's not the case. Has it been hard, yes. But let me assure you, we still have so many fun moments throughout our days. 

Little Miss has developed the funniest personality. She's always one second from blurting out in full theatrical mode any song she knows. We are often serenaded with her rendition of the Happy Birthday song, ABC's, Baa Baa Black Sheep, Jingle Bells, Finger Family song, and the list goes on and on and on. We were actually just joking tonight that we would have a built in DJ for our beach trip coming up soon. She never fully finishes a song before jumping to another, it's a never ending mix tape with this one. 

Little Man is something else! He is smitten by his big sister, but has his own hilarious personality. He is always smiling or laughing about something...unless of course it's milk time. The boy is all about his milk! He's crawling around and getting where he wants to go. And he is always grunting or chattering about something. 

Through the dark days, the hard moments, we still see rays of sunlight. These two Littles help keep me going. 

In a nut shell....

When it wins, it really wins. The house calls my name, I long to remain within those walls of comfort. They don't judge. They sit quietly, just doing their job. Leaving seems like a ridiculous feat. One that would likely be rewarding, but the thought of getting dressed, ready and looking halfway decent seems an impossible task. Am I making excuses? Do I really not want to go? Or do I really not feel like going?

Then joining in on the party is anxiety. When I go out, I have to be in front of people. People will look at me. What will they think? What if I panic in public? What if I don't meet expectations? What if....? Those what if's could flow for pages and pages.