Life's Too Short

I am happy.

It's been a long time since I can finally say that.  

I feel like I have truly been happy for the last few months.  Part of me attributes it to having Charlotte.  There is so much joy in being a parent, and that joy multiplied when she was born.  

Aside from feeling happy, I can actually see it.  We have maternity/baby pictures on the wall in our bedroom, and I feel like you see the progression of my happiness in those pictures.  For the past couple of years, I feel like my smile hasn't been as big as it has been or as it is now.  Yes, I'm was/am happy being Zachary's mother, but I really feel like these past few years have been so clouded with darkness and grief as I've been processing the loss of Jonathan.  

Along with my new found joy, I also feel like being happy is a choice.  Now don't get me wrong, I still have my moments and days of hurt and anger, and I am also an advocate for anti-depressant/anxiety meds, so I'm not saying that everything can be fixed by deciding to be happy.  But for me, choosing to be happy now is a big part of it.   

I was talking to my cousin the other day about how much weight I need to lose, and as I've said before, I have this scale number in my head that I think once I'll reach it, I'll be happy again.  That number has always been my pre-weight before I got pregnant with Jonathan.  My view of that number is twisted because it represents how I was and who I was before I had Jonathan...before I knew what the loss of a child felt like...before I knew what the darkness of grief felt like.  As I was talking to my cousin, I kind of felt it click that I can be happy now.  Yes, even with 40+ pounds to lose, I can be happy.  I just need to shift my perspective. 

Yes, I want to be healthy.  Yes, I want to still lose weight.  But I can be happy now while I'm on the journey.  I can also rock a cute new outfit now, even if the size on the tag is higher than I used to wear.  I can get the cute haircut now, instead of waiting until I lose the weight to look pretty.  I am pretty now.  I am cute now.  I am happy now. 

My perspective has also changed because my kids love me for me.  They don't care what size I am.  I thought of a popular blog post that floats around Facebook during the summer about a mom swimming with her kids instead of sitting on the sidelines because she doesn't want to wear a swimsuit.  Her kids don't care about how she looks in her suit.  Her kids care about her playing with them. Again, life's too short. 

With this new found epiphany, I'm still human, and I'm still a grieving mama. Yes, I find myself being happier, but there are still those moments of when I get that ache in my heart for Jonathan. Honestly, I don't think that will ever go away.  I shared a picture on social media this weekend of me holding Zac and Charlotte.  When I posted it, I didn't know how to caption it.  I wanted to write that my heart was full...  Or that my arms are full of joy...  But those didn't seem right because Jonathan was missing.  He wasn't in my arms or hugging my leg as I held his two younger siblings.  Even though my heart appeared full, it still ached a bit. 

Missing Jonathan and longing for him will never change.  But I feel like as I am raising Zac and Charlotte, I can choose to be happy in the moment with them instead of choosing to be happy in the future.  I think that I can give Jonathan the credit for me realizing what I have in my heart (and arms) right now.  And that makes me happy. 

Content

A few weeks ago, I found myself sitting at my parents' house on their porch swing...which is one of my favorite places ever.  As I was sitting there on that gorgeous Spring day, Miss Charlotte was sleeping my arms, and Zac was picking up rocks and sticks in the yard with my mom.  He kept turning around and showing me what he found with the biggest grin on his precious face.  I had a thought that I hadn't thought in about four years:

My life is good. 

This thought surprised me because I felt a level of content that I hadn't felt in years.  It was (and is) true. 

My life is good.

I genuinely felt that, and I thanked God for the blessings He had given me.  

I feel like I have hit a new chapter in my ever-changing grief. 

I am a mom of three beautiful children.  The amount of love that I have for them is completely indescribable.  What I feel when I see their precious smiles fills my heart with such joy.  I am absolutely loving this stage of my life of being a mom. 

It's still true that grief and joy are not mutually exclusive.  

I feel that I am finally able to find joy amidst my grief.  The Lord has provided different opportunities that have allowed me to love on others while grieving.  I am able to empathize along with them.  Through this, I am able to see the redemption of Jonathan's life.  I hate that he isn't with us, but I love being able to help others by being able to understand loss from my own with Jonathan.  It helps create some form peace for the purpose for his short life. 

Yes, I still have my sad moments of missing my boy, Jonathan.  Just yesterday, the messiness of grief emerged on Mother's Day when a stranger at the park simply asked me how many children I have.  Fumbling over my words, I told her three, because I always want to include, remember, and acknowledge Jonathan.  She then followed up with asking how old they are.  In that split second before I responded, my heart skipped a beat with anxiety because I wasn't prepared for a follow up.  At this point I was committed with my answer of three children, but the next few seconds I needed to decide if I just quickly state that Jonathan is (would be) 4, Zac 18 months and Charlotte 2 months, or do I backtrack and make the conversation turn awkward and state that my firstborn had passed...?  As I proceeded to tell her 4, 18 months and 2 months, I then felt a shift in my mood as it obviously appeared that I only have two children with me.  That grief cloud lingered throughout the rest of the day.  It's sometimes unfair that a simple question from a kind stranger can carry so much weight. 

As I said before, my grief is still there.  I still have my good days and my bad days.  But I finally feel like I am in a place of contentment that I haven't felt in quite sometime.  I am thankful for God's Faithfulness as He has been patient during these past four years. 

Panicked

I feel panicked. 

Little Miss Charlotte will be here in 12 days, and I feel panicked. 

I fully feel ready for her grand entrance. Her room is ready.  Bottles have been washed.  Diapers and wipes are handy. Her drawers are fully stocked.  And I'm not too nervous about delivery.  

And yet I feel panicked. 

In these last few days I find myself overwhelmed with fear and anxiety regarding germs.  Yes, my germaphobeness is in full force.  

I have been praying for peace and for God to protect us.  I have been praying for TRUTH in this situation.  But my fear has debilitating. 

I know it comes down to control and trust. 

As delivery gets closer, I can't help but relive my delivery with Jonathan.  Even though Jonathan passed due to a genetic issue and not because of sickness or something going extremely wrong, the fear of loss is still present.  

I'm not afraid of the flu.  I'm afraid of Zac getting the flu, being hospitalized, and then dying. I'm afraid that I'll get the flu, which then causing harm to Charlotte, causing her to die. 

Before Jonathan, my thoughts wouldn't go to the extreme of death.  I wouldn't have thought twice that my child would die.  But after experiencing that death with Jonathan, I unfortunately understand that death can be a very real outcome. And that's automatically where my fears take my thoughts regarding Zachary...and now Charlotte. 

It's exhausting to be living in this realm of fear.  

I feel crazy at times.  If I actually shared my minute by minute thoughts, you'd think I was crazy. 

I know that I've made progress through counseling and facing my fears head on.  I also know that this has been an awful flu/sick season.  Sometimes it's two steps forward, and then three steps back.  Right now I feel like I've taking a few steps back from the process I've made, but I also know that I am having a baby in a couple of weeks. I know I need Grace for myself during this season.  I know that there will be a day where I'll take steps forward and make some good progress again.  But until that day, I need to tell myself the Truth and give myself some extra Grace. 

Messy Work In Progress

I survived the holidays. Seriously, this feels like such an accomplishment. I deserve a metal, or at least a sticker. The holidays are so suffocating at times, and January feels like I can breathe again. I've never really liked January in particular, but it's probably been my favorite month for the last 3 years. 

With each year, the joy and the grief get more complex as Zac is being more engaged with the holidays. I find myself loving the joy that he brings as his excitement fills the house. But then I'm pulled back to sadness, remembering that we never got to (or will) experience it with Jonathan. 

The holidays are a constant pull of joy and grief, ping-ponging me back and forth...back and forth. 

It's exhausting.

And then add pregnancy hormones, and you have a fun, complicated, emotional concoction. 

As we are approaching Charlotte's arrival in about 5 weeks, I find myself praying for protection for her, Zac, Charles and myself... especially in the midst of all this sickness going around. 

Me praying for them is big. But as I was lying in bed last night, I realized that I pray out of fear that I can't do it. I can't ultimately protect everyone from all the germs. When I pray, it's more of a last resort with me waving my white flag. I guess that's better than nothing. At least it's in the right direction. 

I also realized that when I pray for Zac or Charlotte, I'm compartmentalizing Jonathan. Meaning, I still have so much pain and hurt towards God regarding Jonathan. But I'll try to trust Him with my other two children. And me praying for protection is me trying to trust Him...along with me being exhausted from trying to do it all myself. 

I'm a messy work in progress. But at least I'm making progress. I am exhausted, and I ultimately want to turn to God first instead of a last resort. Hopefully I'll get there. But for now, at least I'm praying. 

It's Not You, It's Me

I find myself feeling like I'm not really good at friendships.  Feeling a bit lonely.  But at the same time, not motivating myself enough to step out and connect.  

I know like everything in life, things come and go like seasons.  Some people are in your life for a season.  And the next, they're not.  I'm trying to be okay with that.  

Perhaps it's because I'm an introvert and exhausted after taking care of Z all day.  Wanting to connect with another being is not energizing to me.  I'm tired.  I don't like small talk.  A person will reach out here or there, but I'm tired.  

Perhaps it's because I withdraw during my pregnancies.  For some reason, I tend to pull away from everyone during these nine months.  Maybe it's a defense mechanism that allows me to protect myself from letting others down if I lose another child.  Maybe it's because I'm in survival mode the entire time.  I'm just trying to survive my fears of another loss.  

Perhaps it's because I am at a different stage of life and am on a baby's schedule.  I'm one of the later ones of my friends that have a baby (with another on the way).  I am currently on his naptime schedule.  I plan my days around what he can handle.  And some days it's easiest to just stay home and not venture out.  I've never been a good hostess, so having people over sounds like so much work. 

Perhaps it's because I'm still grieving J, and people don't understand. Maybe they think I should be over it by now.  Maybe I feel judged.

Perhaps it's me.

Perhaps it's not just me. 

Perhaps other mom's feel the same way.  

The good. The bad. The tired.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of health issues.

I'm tired of family drama.

I'm tired of being tired. 

I'm tired of feeling like I'm not good enough based off people judging my decisions. 

I'm tired of just feeling like I'm surviving.

I'm tired of a crying baby when he should be sleeping. 

I'm just plain tired:
mind
body and 
soul.

...I know having an almost 10 month old and being 8 weeks pregnant doesn't help...

Ultimately, I know my own soul health can really play a huge role in how I'm feeling.  To be completely honest, my soul's not doing so well.  There's still a barrier between God and me.  It's not a 6 foot cinder-block wall that has been present in the past, but even a 2 foot picket fence can still be a barrier.  

When I boil my relationship with God down, it is clear that is the issue is that I don't trust Him.  Don't get me wrong, I believe in Him as my Savior, but I'm still wagging my finger at time as to say "don't let me down, again" when I pray.  I know that He didn't actually "let me down," but it's hard to get past that feeling deep within my gut.  

I have a lot of head-knowledge about the truths of who God is, but my gut isn't aligning with the truths that I know.  Because of this, I've created this barrier that allows me to be in control.  Because I trust myself.  

It's exhausting.

I want to be free.  Freedom is a big word I discuss in counseling.  I long for freedom.  I want the weight off my shoulders.  I want rest.  Even as I type this out the verses Matthew 11:28-30 come to mind: 

28 "Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Again, I KNOW it (head-knowledge), and I want it, but I get stuck along the way.  There's a deep valley of pain and lack of trust that I've built from my grief.

I truly long for that rest.  I know He is there just patiently waiting for me to take His yoke.  I know I'm tired.  I know His yoke is easy.  

I know how I want the outcome, but I'm just having a hard time getting out of my own way.  And it's tiring. 

I survived.

Yesterday 12:52pm: 
Zac throws up on our bed.

Now, he had been fussing a bit beforehand, so I thought he might have just worked himself up and made himself sick.  

By 2:30pm:
Zac throws up a total of 7 times.  

The stomach bug had officially hit Zac.

One of the times Zac got threw up, it ended up all over me.  My shirt, bra, pants and underwear were saturated.  I had just gotten initiated into motherhood.

It was so sad and heartbreaking seeing him so scared each time he got sick.  After talking to to the nurse, we ended up taking him in to make sure he wasn't more sick than he appeared.  By the evening, he was able to keep a few ounces of Pedialite and formula down.  He also got some good sleep last night...even though momma didn't. 
He is 100% better today.

It's no secret that I'm a germaphobe.  And I deep down I really think I have Emetophobia (the fear of throwing up).  I can literally count the times I have thrown up in my life on one hand. While working at the elementary school, if a kid was throwing up, I was the one rushing out of the room.  I couldn't handle it.  

I used to judge the parents who would come in to the office to pick of their sick child and hug and kiss them when they'd come out of the nurse's office.  But now I get it.  I hugged, held and kissed Zac all afternoon long.  Trying to comfort him while he was so pale and lethargic in my arms.  I knew he was sick, and I knew that there was a big chance I could get sick from loving on him, but I didn't care.  I wanted to take care of my precious, sick boy. The love I have for him outweighed any fear of getting sick that came to mind.  I didn't care.  

In addition to overcoming my own fear of germs, I feel like we conquered another fear.  Before yesterday, I had never had a child get sick that didn't die as a result.  Between Jonathan and the miscarriage, sickness equaled death.  This is a huge underlying reason behind my fear of germs. I have a fear of Zac getting sick and dying.  I have dreaded the day that he got sick for the first time because of what the outcome could be.  Even on the way to the doctors yesterday, I was crying because I was so fearful that he so sick he would need to get admitted to the hospital.  

A marble moment was when we saw a neighbor at the doctor's office with his own sick child.  We were unable to get in to see our own doctor, but the neighbor was glad we were able to see their doctor that afternoon.  Just having that encouragement of a new doctor put this momma a little at ease.  It was definitely a marble moment that God was in control. 

I'm so thankful that Zac is fine today and that yesterday wasn't worse. I feel like I can conquer the world because I survived the past 24 hours. It is more than just Zac being sick for the first time.  I feel like I tackled a huge fear in my life and won.  I'm not saying that I'm not a germphobe anymore, but I feel like I took a huge step in winning that battle yesterday.  

I survived.