For days, maybe even weeks, I’ve wanted so much to come here and write. Truly pour my soul out once again, as I’ve done so often in the past. This is therapy to me. Hammering the keys down, forming my thoughts into words. Sharing them with the world. It helps my soul. It’s ironic to me to want to write, and yet feel like I have nothing to say.
If you asked me about this whole writing and blog thing, I’d tell you that lately I feel vulnerable. One of my pet peaves with blogging is that people in real life who never say two words to your face can know your innermost thoughts. For the first time ever, I’ve truly thought about pulling away from this social media hype. It’s consuming, and at times I wonder why I blog publicly in the first place. And then of course, I remember it’s not about the few that make me afraid to keep doing this. I started to connect with another mama losing a child, and by sharing our story she’d hopefully feel less alone. I get emails almost every week from passers by of this blog who share their losses and stories with me. That is enough to me to keep going. Keep writing. Keep pushing through my thoughts and the aftermath of this grief.
If you asked me about Evie, I’d tell you something I’ve struggled so hard to admit, even to myself. I look at her, and can hardly believe she’s mine. I was afraid, for years, of having another girl. And now that she’s here nothing about her reminds me of Jenna (well, maybe her drama queen ways, which makes me smile). It was hard at first to separate the two, in my head. For the first few weeks, I’d have to catch myself from calling her Jenna. So strange, as I never used Jenna’s name the way I’ve used Evelyn’s. And not a day goes by that I don’t think of losing her. I don’t know when that stopped with Joseph. I guess in some ways, I am still pinching myself. She is an answer to a prayer I had given up on. I’d tell you I hope her eyes stay blue, like her Daddy’s. I’d tell you, probably whispering (hoping you don’t think I’m crazytown), that I feel like Evelyn has an old soul and when I look in her eyes I feel like she understands so much more than I realize. I’d tell you tonight she gave me a first smile, making eye contact. It happened three times tonight actually!
If you asked me about Joseph, the first thing I’d tell you about is the love he has for his sister. You can see it in his eyes. Hear it in his voice. I hope they are always this close. And then I’d tell you I’m fixing to have a three year old, and that is all kinds of crazy.
If you asked me about my heart, I’d tell you sometimes life is messy. And while I’ve been a Christian for a while now, I’m still figuring a lot of things out. I’d tell you I’m easily frustrated, finding myself thinking the worst about situations too quickly. I’d tell you I don’t know where I’d be without the grace of God. And I’d tell you that while life is messy, you just have to enjoy it anyway when you can. Because if you let the messy parts take over, you might not notice the littles bonding on the playmat in the morning time, or the way Bubby tucked his Cookie Monster in bed with his Mater as you were rocking Evelyn, or the way she smiles so big in her sleep.
If you asked me about motherhood, I’d tell you I’m letting go of guilt. I’d tell you I’m not going to kill myself to have a clean house, and happy kids (I choose the latter). I’d tell you I’m okay that breastfeeding this go around is sort of stressing me out, and I might not last long. I’d tell you I wish it were different, but that I’m okay with it. I’d tell you that I have so many ideas for redecorating Bubby’s room. I’d tell you I have reached a new level of exhaustion. And as I’d probably be holding our newest little in my arms as we talked, watching her chest rise and fall and listening to her breathe, I’d tell you it’s worth it.