Lonely Soldier

Tomorrow is my 16 week prenatal appointment.

And for the past few nights I have been unable to truly rest.

This has happened before each prenatal appointment during this pregnancy.

On Monday night I woke every hour starting at 4:00 am, convinced that it was Wednesday and I needed to get up and get ready for my appointment.

Last night, my sleep was haunted with dreams of receiving horrible news about the baby I am carrying.

Throughout the day I am able to be very positive, but when my mind drifts to sleep my fears become vivid.

It doesn't seem right to me.

I feel like I'm fighting these fears and thoughts, but I often am the only one on the front lines.

Not that other's have not experienced this. 

And not that my fellow family and friends haven't mourned and feared with me.

But it seems that why others are planning ahead for this baby, I am overcome with the possibility of something going terribly wrong.

I am letting this fear suffocate my hope and excitement. 

I don't think I have the ability to structure words to describe my love for this baby and the babies I previously lost.

I am also not sure I know how to explain the titter totter I'm on as I walk through this pregnancy.

I was thrilled to discover I was once again pregnant.

Thrilled to see my baby move around inside it's current home and to hear the soothing rhythm of it's heartbeat.

But at the same time, I was plagued with fear and regret.

I was afraid I would once again mourn a most tremendous loss.

And I began to regret that I was not able to travel this far down the road with the triplets.

My mind often drifts to them.

I try to understand why they couldn't be with me now.

Why couldn't I see hear their heartbeats, but I can hear this child's?

Trust me, I am in no way ungrateful for this pregnancy.

I am thrilled and anxious.

But I can't stop this great experience to make me remember a former one that had it's own beauty disguised in pain.

I love my three musketeers.

And I love this little one.

I suppose that this is just not the way I expected pregnancy to be. 

Regardless, I  am trying to soak it up.

 I know that God has destined me for motherhood.

I am confident that I have 3 wonderful, beautiful children waiting for me in the other place.

And I am learning to be confident that this child I am now carrying will leave it's first footprints in the soil of the Earth.

This is unlike any journey I have ever taken.

I thank God for allowing me to grow as I continue to trek down this trail.

I thank God for finding unique little ways to prepare me for this child.

I thank God that my husband is with me on this journey and I am so thankful that God has gifted him to be an incomparable father. 

And I pray that God continues to give me strength, hope and resilience as life ticks on for me and my growing family.  

The dry season

I have been meaning to write for awhile but I've struggled with how to effectively communicate this season I am  currently experiencing.

However, I came across this picture which seems to capture the place where I am.

I feel as if I am stuck in a dry place.

Yet this place is meant to be overflowing, but somehow it's empty.

I could chose to leave such a dry place, but I don't.

Instead I wait and I hope.

I love that the man in this photo is holding an umbrella.

It's like he's saying, "yeah, it's a dry place right now, but wait for the floods".

This is right where I am.

The place I am in is seemingly empty and without life, 

but give it time. 

I hold onto hope knowing that the place I am will once again be overflowing.

Since the miscarriage I have felt this way.

I still am hopeful to experience a healthy pregnancy, but I bring that hope from a place that is dry and lifeless.

This "dry" season has made me realize how much I am past dweller.

I am not much of a future thinker.

I enjoy remembering.

This makes mourning an exceptionally long process for me.

While I've been in this season I have mourned the loss of my three babes.

I have mourned the loss of my own childhood, because of my transition into adulthood.

I have mourned the way life once was, before I knew the pain of losing loved ones.

I am missing being a child and the memories that taunt me so sweetly.

I am missing my first summer of marriage. The sweetest summer I have ever known.

None of this is to say that I am unhappy with my life now.

I am still creating beautiful, wonderful memories with my husband, family and friends everyday.

But they haven't become memories yet, so I can't seem to romanticize them as much as I do memories of old.

My love for memories is one of things that makes me most excited to raise children.

I look forward to creating memories for my children.

I am thankful for the memories my family created with me.

And I dedicate my journey from the dry season to the overflowing one to you and all that I associate with you -- Kansas, thunderstorms, corn on the cob, gardens, goats and horses, chocolate covered pretzels and pumpkin seeds, the Grand Ole Opry, chopping wood, cucumber salad, fishing, ice cream dates with grandpa, breakfast with the g-parents and fireworks over Rocky Pond.