This year was much different. It was probably the most healing year I've experienced since Avery died. Life was relatively normal this year. Of course, it wasn't without conflict, but it wasn't fraught with profoundly earth-shattering circumstances to hurl us off course like previous years. I struggled horribly with my anxiety in the first few months and it wasn't until my writing took off that I felt some relief from that.

I'll tell you where...

I've been on the computer lots and lots in my spare time, but not for blogging. I mentioned a couple posts ago that I have been writing, to say the least.

I am currently on chapter 17 of my novel. It takes up all my free hours of the night, after Jude goes to bed. Most nights I stay up much too late as the words just flow and the story comes to me. I am loving every bit of this.

After I finish my book, and revise and edit a million times of course, I will be self-publishing it. I am very excited, but also a bit nervous. My book is very special to me. I'm almost certain it's freed me from my debilitating anxiety (not all gone, but I am much more myself now, instead of that psychotic other). I've fallen in love with my characters, and I feel that it is a slightly unique storyline. So, I do worry that people won't like it. It's fine if they don't, I guess... I just worry they'll let me know! I'm not sure I can handle that. But my desire to put it in the hands of people who will enjoy it and fall in love with it far outweighs the fears. Plus, it would be amazing to hold a physical copy of my book in my hands. Dream come true, for sure.

So, that's where I have been. I don't like that I never posted Jude's birthday. He had such a great party and we really enjoyed his day together. Maybe sometime this week I will do a few photo posts to catch up on everything. Not that anyone is pining for it, but because it's nice to look back on these precious times.

I purchased a cardboard block letter from Hobby Lobby a couple of weeks ago and painted it red for a little outdoor photo session with Jude on Friday evening. It was terribly hot, Jude wanted to run around and play instead of pose, and he didn't care much for the boring photo prop, but I am definitely satisfied with the shots that I did get of him. It was nearly "golden hour," my favorite time of the day, and my boy was oh so handsome. While I was following him around, snapping away, he randomly gave me a flower for the very first time. This mama's heart was overjoyed.













I love you, my beautiful boy.

As I've mentioned very recently, I have been struggling a lot with my anxiety and have even questioned if I've also been on the verge of depression. It's been an extremely dark and difficult few months, as I had not been able to shake any of these debilitating feelings. 

Just like the past two years, Angie at Still Life with Circles, has encouraged us all to share right where we are at this moment in our grief.  My post from last year can be found here.

So, where do I stand in this up and down journey on this rugged terrain of grief? My grief has changed shape and size in the past three years, as life takes me down more paths that intertwine with this same road that I've trudged along. Right now, I am stuck. That's the only way I know how to describe it. Losing my daughter, Avery, three years ago at 25 weeks caused a ripple affect that has not seemed to cease. It's brought about so many other circumstances that I was never prepared to face, and now, I still face them everyday.

My son, my Rainbow Baby, will be two years old next month. As he gets older, my insatiable desire for more children gets stronger. Because of the unpredictable nature of my high risk pregnancies, I have been strongly advised to never attempt another pregnancy again. This has been a struggle that I still have never been able to accept. Right now, I am watching everyone who was pregnant with their Rainbows along with me become pregnant once again. Their bodies no longer fail them. They've seemed to be able to remedy what caused them to have their losses. But not me. Even those who have the exact blood clotting disorders I do have gone on to have healthy, full term pregnancies, and are having third babies now as well. My premature Rainbow was nearly lost as well, my body barely responding to what was supposed to fix it. All of this leaves me with so much anger. I don't understand why my body was not made for the one thing my heart has always longed for. I am grateful for my precious Jude, but I never wanted him to be alone.

When I had Jude by emergency c-section while on blood thinners, it caused me to develop blood clots in my lungs. I was hospitalized for his last week in the NICU, and it was one of the most traumatic experiences I've ever endured. I thought I would be over it by now, but it still haunts me. I have been left with a ridiculous struggle with anxiety. Because of the clots nearly two years ago, I am on coumadin and have to get my blood checked once a month (PT/INR). My anxiety has turned these routine finger pricks into horrifying moments to dread all month long. As they get closer, I am filled with fear. I know there is nothing to really worry about, but I cannot shake the feeling of dread over it. Things that never would have bothered me before have my stomach in knots now. I worry that I could lose my husband. I worry that my son could get cancer (ever since his febrile seizure seven months ago). I think about things no one should dwell on. I rob my life of the joy I should have by marring it with the fear of what isn't. I truly cannot control this and sometimes it consumes me.

Right now, I long for another daughter. I so badly want to be able to raise a little girl. I eat my heart out at the store, glancing over the sweet pinks and frilliness of the baby girls' section, knowing that the only baby girl clothes I'll ever buy are in a box in the top of my closet, purchased for a sweet girl that never made it home. I long for the little sandals and the dresses. The dolls and the bows. I love having a son, but I want a daughter again too. I was supposed to have that. I feel like there will forever be a gaping hole in my heart without a daughter to watch grow up. I'll never see my little girl as a bride. Never share girly heart to hearts or give mother-daughter advice. There's so much I can't have and I am dreadfully aware of that. I wish I didn't want it so badly, but I do.

I have a hard time with people who question my situation, just shrugging it off like I could just go to a specialist if I want another baby. They don't understand how serious it is. I almost died twice having my son. He almost died. My daughter did die. Since there are no guarantees at all when it comes to pregnancy for me, how could anyone think I should try going against the advice of more than one doctor? Then people nonchalantly suggest adoption, as if I've never heard of it before. That is not something that we can afford. And my heart aches for my child, so adoption does not heal what is broken. My dream is surrogacy, if that is even possible one day. If someone is truly selfless enough to give us the greatest gift imaginable. It's a huge deal. And very unlikely, but even so, I still keep a mental log of my favorite names... just in case.

I am convinced that if what happened to Avery was the end of our losses, that I would be a much better version of myself now. I grasp onto my loss more tightly than I would if we hadn't lost our future children as well. When I was pregnant with Jude, and everything was going perfectly, I felt at peace. I thought of her lovingly, without so much pain attached to her memory. I felt like I could survive and move past it, always carrying her close but never letting her death define me. But as soon as things went badly with Jude, and I lost all of his future siblings, a dark cloud moved in and it's hovered over me ever since. I'm stuck in the mud. I'm standing still while everyone moves on... But at least I'm standing.