Seven month old

My little one would be 7 months old today. It's so hard to believe when we lost him, he wasn't even 3 months old, and now he'd probably be sitting up, scooting around, playing with his big sister. I know a lot of kids the same age- tis the nature of playgroups and social circles where you're surrounded by people due to the fact that you have kids the same age.

I wonder what he would have been like, who he would have become by now. What faces he would make, and if he would say mama or dada first. What would his favorite toy have been and what would we have given him for his first taste of real food? I guess avocado...all babies love avocado.

Girls!Girls!Girls!

Not the movie, or the song, but that's how many girls I will have in February. Three. Whew, it's a little overwhelming. A little relieving. Mostly just overwhelming.

I never imagined myself as a mom to a clan of girls. I'm not girly, and I don't like girl stuff. I have one girl, and she is awesome- so I guess we're doing something right. I'm happy that the babies are healthy and growing well, and even a little happy that there is no boy in there.

But, part of me really wanted another boy. Not that he could replace Charlie, but he would be more like David than like me. We knew we would be all done having kids- and now we don't feel that way. It feels weird to be wrong for the first time as well. I've always accurately guessed my children's sexes until now. I guess I thought I was a bit more intuitive than I actually am.

A big part of me is relieved not to have to use the clothes I was given for Charlie, not to have the same feelings I had when he was born, and to just do something completely different this time. I can just put everything away that belonged to him and not look at it for awhile. I don't have to go to the boy section of the store, where so many of the clothes he wore are now on the clearance rack and where so many of the clothes remind me of what he would be wearing right now if he were still with us.

I think it will be an adventure: me and my three girls. I'll shout, "Girls, time to come in!" out into the yard and say things like, "the girls and I are going to the store," and "when my girls were born, blahblahblah." It's going to take some getting used to, but it's going to be okay.

Maybe we'll just pay $6,000 for the sperm selection deal next time to make sure it's a boy.

The empty apartment

This weekend marks the four month anniversary of Charlie's passing, and it went unnoticed by everyone around me, including my husband (seemingly). We were helping to move my stepmom, who has be gracious enough to let us practically live with her, into another apartment, so everyone was distracted- everyone but me.

The apartment was comfortable- sparse, high ceilings, big windows, wood floors and in historic Old Louisville, the neighborhood David and I lived in before we decided to get married and have children. The slumlords always just slap a fresh coat of paint on everything before new tenants move in- including door hinges, window sills, and just about everything else. But the neighborhood has it's own meaning of "home" for us.

There was some part of me that was sad to see it go. I became an adult there, fell in love there, decided to get married there, and when it came time to go through something has tragic as grieving my child, I even returned to the old hood to do it.

As we were packing the last few items and I stood in the room where we landed the night Charlie died, the apartment where I must've spent countless nights awake crying and ridden with anxiety that if I slept I'd wake to find my daughter gone too, I looked around and felt a sense of closure. It was hard to leave the apartment, but in a way, it was like closing a very bad chapter in my life.

Old Louisville isn't our home, Springfield is our home- where our house is, where our life is, where our son is. It's been good to have this place to have space to grieve in a place where the walls wont look back at me forever, where I can say goodbye to the mirrors I looked into with tear stained cheeks and windows I looked out of wondering what would happen if I just fell. It was a great temporary grieving zone, but now it's time to go back to the real world.  Thanks mom :)

Silence from the backseat

Yesterday I was driving down the narrow road to our house and I glanced back into the backseat and thought to myself, "Charlie sure has been awful quiet."

It was the first time in several weeks that I'd forgotten. The first time in quite awhile that it hit me like a ton of bricks in my belly that he was always going to be quiet. Always.

It was dark when I arrived home, and I just couldnt convince myself to walk back to his graveside and say hello. I buried him there to have constant contact with him, but it is so much easier said than done. Visiting is hard. It brings back all the pain of watching him be buried.

I want to think of him more often, but I usually find myself shaking my head back and forth so that I don't visualize the images I dont want to see. Almost every day I think of those moments walking him into the hospital, and there was a woman there as I crouched down on my knees who held me and cried with me. I remember her face, her smell, and can still hear the sound of her voice trying to comfort me in he worst time. Thank you mystery lady, whoever you are.

Things have been good. The twins are progressing well, and there have been no problems. We are getting the nursery set up, and I'm finally getting excited and attached to these babies. I'm fearful of what will happen after they are born, and if I will ever be able to sleep again, but for now, Im trying to let that be something I just don't stress about.

I remembered this, that I saw on a friend's facebook last year:

A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. But, there is no word for a parent who loses a child.