you never, EVER get over your child

As the weeks pass by & the days until Clayton's 1st birthday approach. My anxiety increases! I am trying my best to focus on today & the moment, but it's hard. I want so badly to be done being pregnant, not because im uncomfortable (ok part of it is!) but mainly because I want "little miss henning" here! Safe & sound! And the closer it gets the more i want her here. My main reason is I want Clayton & her to have their own birthdays &  I want to know that we will get the healthy baby we've been praying for. It's hard to push the thoughts away when we've been there before. I pray every night for her health & safety, but until she is here, I can't be so sure. So I will continue to try to focus on today and happiness it's brought.

I have had a lot of mixed emotions lately. Between Clayton's pending 1st birthday, the 37 week pregnacy mark- when Clayton was born,(today I'm 37 weeks with miss henning)  & the birth of our "Rainbow baby girl". It all is very bittersweet and unexplainable. I have a lot on my plate right now and Im trying really hard to hold it all together. It's hard. I feel like there are a lot of people who need an explanation or an answer & Im afraid I can't do that. There are so many un-knowns in our life right now, I'm just going to take it day by day and keep on keeping on!

I've been thinking a lot about the past year and how i could put it into words. Well I dont have to, A good friend sent me a poem she found & that sums it all up. It's perfect, it says everything I've ever once thought or said. Without me explaining anything to anyone, it's simply----- HOW I FEEL.


When you lose a baby...
You don’t know what to expect.
People surround you. For a couple of weeks. Making sure you are not going to kill yourself, refuse to get out of bed, or start rocking a baby doll like the crazy lady they heard about from a friend.
You get lots of sympathy cards, clearly written and designed to be sent to console a daughter losing her father. Not the other way around.
You get free baby formula in the mail. For months and months and months.
And free baby magazines. And free baby coupons.
You secretly envy every pregnant woman. But not without a tinge of guilt, because you know all too well that she might be one in four- expecting her rainbow child.
It seems like the whole world is expecting a baby.
You have baby stuff around your home. Because you never imagined you wouldn’t need it.
You feel jarred. In the grocery store. At a birthday party. At the dinner table. At Christmas. Driving.
The baby you never knew, but lost changes every part of your life. Every. single. part.
Forever.
You see baby clothes and it brings tears to your eyes.
You get sick and tired of crying. You never knew it was possible to cry this much.
You find yourself angry at God. Angry at yourself. Just angry.
You sware you can feel them kick but they’re gone. They call them phantom kicks. I call them painful, all kinds of painful. But sweet too.
You know, or you have a strong feeling of knowing what your child would have looked like, and been like. You see a child in the store, or on the street. Their hair color, dimples, smile, their personality and suddenly you are reminded of your child. You miss your child even more, if that’s even possible.
Your Babies R’ Us Registry is still active. There is no delete button on their site. The babies r’ us people don’t make a dime on people like us. Why bother right? You have to call them, plead with them to remove your freaking’ registry, because there will be no baby shower. There is an awkward silence. There is sadness. There will be no baby.
You get hospital bills about 3-4 months after you buried your child. You have to pay for the baby you delivered but didn’t bring home.
You find that moment of happiness in life for the first time, but the guilt swallows it up almost immediately.
You remember the size of the casket. The size of the plot. The face of the funeral director. The expression of those that attended the funeral. The feeling of raw pain, like your chest has literally been ripped open.
Somehow you convince yourself that you deserve happiness. Because you really do. But in the happiest, purest moment, there is still that hole that only they were meant to fill.
People compare your pain to their own pain. The loss of their grandmother, husband, their failed marriage, rebellious teenagers. Somehow this comparing leaves you stranded. If they can compare their pain of a situation to the loss of your BABY, they will likely never get it. Babies are not supposed to die. End of story.
You lost a dream. And it almost feels like you imagined their entire existence up. Their name becomes a distant memory on the lips of others.
There is awkwardness when you talk about your child in a crowd. No one knows whether to cry, walk away or pretend you never brought him or her up.
You lose friends. You find new ones.
You can’t believe that women have actually survived this and you never knew about it. Not really, anyway.
You would do anything for another minute with your child.
You cry when others bring up your child, not so much because it hurts but more so because it such a precious and rare gift.
You long for the rewind button, even after many many instances of acceptance.
You want to know what went wrong, and why…
You find a new appreciation for moments in life that make you laugh… you laugh harder and love stronger.
You know that you can die bitter, or die thankful. There is no in between.
You never ever, EVER get over your child. The one you hoped for, prayed for, carried and loved for the weeks and months they were with you.
You learn to live with the pain.
You are better for having known them at all.

So in closing thoughts, today I am 37 weeks. The same point in my pregnancy with Clayton that he was born. It's somewhat weird & so insecure. I don't know at all what to expect with "little miss henning" will she come soon, or will I go over? It's the unknown that's the hardest. But I have to keep remembering. God & Clayton have a plan!