Today marks three months since Olive came into our lives. Sometimes these three months seem like eternity, and other days I can breathe in her smell and feel like it was just yesterday.
I'm mad.
I'm mad at the random driver on the street who doesn't use his blinker, the person who doesn't hold the door open for me as I'm walking into a building, the cashier for being so cheery.
I'm mad that there are already "Baby's 1st Christmas" ornaments flooding the aisles of stores I shop at.
I'm mad that I don't get to dress Olive up as a little green olive for Halloween this year (complete with a pimento hat!)
I'm mad at myself for being so critical of my postpartum body.
I'm mad at myself that I continue to live in this postpartum body and don't do anything to change what I don't like.
I'm mad that I had 12 weeks at home and only in the past 3, when it was finally time to return to work, my mind and body decided to boycott sleep.
I'm mad that my exhaustion is due to the same lingering thoughts that continue to wage war in my head instead of newborn sleep regression.
I'm sad.
I'm sad that I don't have my baby.
I'm sad when I see pictures of babies Olive's age, knowing that she'd be reaching some of those same milestones now: smiling, cooing, holding her head up better.
I'm sad that the heartache of losing her feels like it's being replaced with self-pity.
It makes me sad when I meet my friend's babies, and realize that the play dates I dreamed of, the friendships I anticipated our children having and the new bonds we would form as mothers will never happen - at least not with Olive.
I'm sad that I'm missing out on more than just motherhood, but a new sisterhood that is only shared with mother's of earthly children.
I'm sad that I haven't experienced a sleepless night pacing the floors, rocking a baby.
I'm sad that I don't get to experience breastfeeding or blowout diapers.
I'm sad that I'll never know if she likes baths, despises tummy time or gets the hiccups because she eats too fast.
I'm sad that I can't feel her little fingers around mine, hear her noises as she sleeps or wipe a tear from her eye.
I'm confused.
I'm still confused about what to do with the nursery. It's now half packed (which I never should have done alone), and as much as I thought that was the right thing to do, now I'm not so sure.
I'm confused about what I need from my family and friends.
I'm confused about what I need from my husband.
I'm confused about what my husband needs from me.
I'm confused about what to do for the holidays - how do I properly acknowledge our daughter in our holiday card, preparations and celebrations?
I'm confused as to when we should have more children.
I'm still very much confused by the realm of heaven.
I'm fearful.
I'm fearful that the fact we still don't have autopsy results means that something is wrong with me.
I'm fearful that the months without her are becoming harder - time is not healing this wound, it often feels like it's making it worse.
I'm fearful that I'm becoming more angry, bitter and judgmental towards people or situations rather than forgiving and understanding.
I'm fearful that God is losing his patience with me because I am trying so hard to stay close to him, yet I still struggle at times with trusting him. (I know God isn't actually losing his patience with me, but I feel that way sometimes because I know I'm losing my patience with me! - see what I'm thankful for below)
I'm hopeful.
I'm hopeful that God's plan is unveiling itself even if I don't completely understand it.
I'm hopeful that reading my bible and spending time with God throughout the day will continue to strengthen me and give me the wisdom and patience I need to accept that plan in it's own perfect way, in it's own perfect timing.
I'm hopeful every time I leave church.
I'm thankful.
I'm so incredibly thankful for each and every one of you.
I'm thankful for the stories you share with me - stories of sadness, pain and hope.
I'm thankful that I'm not alone on this journey.
I'm thankful for new friends I've met - even if we've only "met" through Facebook or email.
I'm thankful that my husband is patient with me - it's not easy living with a hormonal rollercoaster for a wife.
I'm thankful for our sweet dog, Layla, who seems to know exactly when mama needs someone to cuddle with.
I'm thankful for the cards, notes and messages letting me know that 3 months later you are still thinking and praying for us.
I'm thankful that Olive's life and death has made it's way into your dinnertime conversations, your daily interactions, your bedtime prayers.
I'm thankful for a best friend who makes sure there is something in my mailbox every month on the 29th - reminding me that Olive is having the best birthday ever!
I'm thankful that even though I don't understand heaven, have a faith that is tested and a soul that is weary - I have a savior that is forgiving and gracious.
You see why I refer to it as a rollercoaster - these are DAILY thoughts. Daily joys. Daily pains. Daily struggles.
One minute at a time turns into one hour at a time which turns into one day at a time.
Try to sleep.
Wake Up.
Repeat.
I know that this past month has been emotionally exhausting - I returned to work, we welcomed my nephew into the family and are preparing to welcome a niece soon. Friends and family members are having major surgeries, the medical bills finally stopped and the holidays are fast approaching. My mind is racing, my heart is heavy and my body is tired - I've been thrashing about in the wound instead of sitting still in it.
I don't like feeling this way, but I also recognize that it's a part of the process. The goal is to grow from it - even the ugly parts. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for continuing on this journey with me. XoXo
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