I can't complain.

No, really, I can't.  I don't know if it's just me doing the judging but I kind of assume others are, too.  I know my thoughts.  I'm hot, tired, fat, sore, sleepy and it hurts to walk.  The second I think any of these things or actually have the nerve to say them the internal dialogue starts.  "Why are you complaining?  At least Henry's alive."  "Well, he's alive for now."  I can't stand the thought of going through all of this and having to lose another baby but the thought is there all the same. 
It applies to other people's complaints as well.  "My child is driving me crazy."  "Well, at least you have your child."  "I'm not getting enough sleep."  "Well, at least you didn't lose your baby."  It's not fair to others but the thought is there.  I'm getting better, though.  I am able to have sympathy for peoples' plights now.  When we first lost Nathan I just wanted people to stop complaining.  There is nothing else worth complaining about when you have lost a child.  But....I'm human and they're human and humans complain.  It's one of the ways we try to connect with other people.  We tell people our problems hoping that they have been there or they will understand.  We want to be understood and accepted.  I write this blog in the hopes that the readers will gain some insight into what losing a child feels like.  I write in the hopes that it will help them sympathize with someone going through the loss of a child.  I write because I'm human and I have a need to be understood.  But I will continue to fight for every bit of joy Henry is trying to give me.  And I will try my best to keep things in perspective and not complain.  I am truly lucky that Henry is alive and I will hang on to that as much as I can.  Every ache, pain, and tear is worth it to get to hold my baby boy in my arms and hear his first cry.

Some shows should come with warning labels.

I am about to make a confession.  I'm not really a fan of most shows aimed at women.  Give me a good episode of Criminal Minds any day.  But....I do watch one show that my husband doesn't even want to be in the room for.  It's Hawthorne on TNT.  Jim was off at the movies spending 4 hours watching the director's cut of the second Lord of the Rings movie last night so I decided to watch the season premiere of Hawthorne.  I read the description first.  A nice, pleasant description of Hawthorne having her wedding day.  If you watch this show and haven't seen the premiere yet, stop reading.  So, I'm watching, she's getting married and then she's back at the hospital(she's a nurse.)  So far so good.  She's walking to her car talking to her new husband on the phone when she is attacked.  Did I mention she's 20 weeks pregnant?  And that the guy kicked her several times in the stomach?  I know I should turn it off then, but there's still hope that everything is going to turn out okay so I keep watching.  Bad idea.  I probably should avoid ever watching this show again after how things went.
She's in the hospital in ICU fighting for her baby to live and a former co-worker comes in to deliver her own baby.  Fast forward a little bit and we have this woman delivering her baby in one room while across the hall Hawthorne has to deliver her dead baby.  I am standing in that hallway.  I have had to deliver Nathan knowing he would not go home with me, would never take a breath or smile.  And now I'm looking forward toward delivering a healthy full term baby.  I got a glimpse of how emotional that is going to be when I watched this show.  I cried.  I cried for the joy I know I will have when Henry gets here and I cried for the loss of Nathan and the pain of losing him.  I have been standing in that hallway since October of last year when we got pregnant with Henry.  I am standing there still.  And I am so eager to move into that room where I get to walk out with my precious newborn baby.  This goes to show that God can use anything to speak to us, even a sappy t.v. show.

Some things need to be done alone.

Jim picked up the box for Nathan's things today.  I knew that this would not be an easy day for me.  I felt like I needed to look at every single thing again before I put them in the box.  I cried my way through it.  My son asked me if he could come and help and I had to tell him no.  It was just something I needed to do on my own.  I cried through each picture, card, blanket...it was like I was saying goodbye all over again.  I sat there sobbing and hugging my belly.  Those pesky contradicting emotions were there again.  I ached for Nathan while, at the same time, looked forward to meeting Henry in less than a month. 
The last thing I put in the box was an empty ring box.  I haven't mentioned this here before but I have a simple, small white gold band for each of my children.  I had their names and birth dates engraved on the inside of each ring.  I wear Jack, Anna, and Katherine's rings on a chain around my neck.  We had one made a few days after Nathan was born and it has been on the ring finger of my right hand ever since.  I really felt like it might be time to take it off and put it in with the other things in the box.  I tried, I really did, but it felt like I was ripping my heart out when I took that ring off.  I couldn't do it.  So the ring sits on my finger as a visual reminder of what I have lost.  And the box sits in the family room as a visual reminder to all that there is someone still missing from this family.

Can't sleep.

It seems that as we get closer and closer to Henry's birth I find myself more and more back in the delivery room with Nathan.  My arms still ache to hold him.  I miss my little boy so much.  We only had a few hours with him before they took him away for pictures.  I knew that I couldn't take him back after that or I would never let him go.  It is so hard to say goodbye.  I'm still not sure I can do it.  There is a part of me that clings to Nathan and just can't let him go.  He is my son, whether or not I got to raise him.  There is a sadness in me that I know will never fully go away.  I don't know why we lost him and I won't ever know and that is hard to live with.  I have talked with my grandmother, who lost three babies.  One to stillbirth, one to miscarriage, and one that was born alive, just too early.  She still lives with the pain and that was at least 50 years ago.  I sometimes wish that God didn't think I was strong enough to handle this.  I look forward to years of missing my son and I don't know how I'm supposed to go on.  It hurts too much.  But...then one of my kids will do something silly or Henry will wake up and wiggle all over and I have joy.  I am trying to move forward while still missing the son I have to leave in the past.  I don't know how I've made it this far and I don't know how I'll make it from now on.  I guess I just lean on God and trust that he will help me through.

I miss my friend.

I was sorting through my address book making sure I had all my ducks in a row for the birth announcements when I realized how much has changed.  I had trouble wrapping my brain around all of the people in my address book that I have no contact with anymore.  It makes me sad.  When you lose your church, you lose almost everyone you thought you could count on.  Some hurt more than others.  Like my former best friend.  I understand that it is difficult to believe that your pastor is not doing what he should be but three years of a close friendship should have been enough to make her aware that I would never make this stuff up.  I just pulled addresses from our former church directory.  I was using it to get the addresses of everyone who has left.  From that directory alone there are 12 families who were pushed out of the church.  There are more.  20 total to be exact.  The one thing that all of these people had in common was getting on the pastor's bad side.  From there, they either went quietly or stubbornly held on the the belief that things could be made right. (We are in the second category.)  Things went okay for the ones who just left.  The ones who tried to make things right first, well, things didn't go so well for them.  Several of us have been insulted and falsely accused.  We have had our former pastor talk to other pastors, encouraging them to refuse us and make us come back to his church.  Yet...my former best friend still stands by him.  Even with all of her concerns and questions about the leadership that she has had in the past.  People have been kicked out since we left.  I'm not sure what the spin is on that but I don't understand how someone could be so blind.  These people aren't leaving because they are moving, although some moved to get away from our former pastor.  They are leaving because the pastor doesn't like them and he is willing to lie to get them out.  How do you compete with such a smooth-talking "wolf in sheep's clothing?"  So I sit here, mourning the loss of my friend and hoping that she will one day see the true character of the man who is leading that church.  I want that friendship back, but not if it means she believes what my former pastor says about me.  That's not much of a friendship at all.  So I wait and I pray and I hope that someday soon I can share the joy of that friendship again.