Can I be honest? Like brutally honest? Okay good, because I'd be shocked if anybody told me not to be considering my blog is built on honesty.
I'm scared to have this baby. Like terrified. But not for the reasons you might think.
I'm not scared for the contractions that will make me want to scream in someone's face. I'm not scared to push a baby out of my body. I'm not scared to be a mom.
What am I so afraid of then, you might ask?
I'm terrified of bringing Charly into this world--a world without my baby brother. I've been dreading the day she'll come...but with anticipation no less.
It literally makes no sense to me that I would be so focused on the negative than on the positive, and believe me, I'm trying to flip the script, but it's easier said than done.
My mom had posted on Facebook earlier that she can't wait to welcome this bundle of joy fresh from heaven, and I guess that's what sparked the feeling that I should share my thoughts with you.
To feel with every fiber of my being that heaven is real has been the single most comforting thing in the wake of my brother's death. I've been given witness after witness that there is a place we go after we leave this life, and because of that, naturally I've been thinking about where we came from. And that answer, too, is heaven.
So why am I still so terrified?
There will never be pictures. No memories. She'll look at a family picture when she's able to put names to faces, look at Christian and say, "Mommy, who is that?" I don't think any amount of time can or will pass before that question will stop me from making a run for the first pillow I can cry into.
Sure, I've been told time after time that Charly's getting to know Christian now, and while that's comforting, it's equally disconcerting that she will forget any encounter she might have had with my little brother upon coming here to be with my family.
But then my mom said something that struck me and made my heart a little more grateful.
I've been having false labor contractions, but my parents didn't want to take a chance of missing the delivery of their grandbaby if said contractions were to shift into true ones. As my mom talked with me on the phone about leaving earlier than planned she said through choked back tears:
"I don't want to miss this because...Charly will be the last one to have seen my son."
While I feared for the future of my child stripped of the privilege to know her uncle--or rather fearing for myself welcoming a future for my child who will never know her uncle in this life--my mom instilled gratitude in me with her words. My child will be the last one to have been with and interacted with Christian, and for that I am truly grateful. I suppose I need to learn how to stomp out my jealousy and anger with gratitude.
It's been a long, rocky road the past ten months. Regardless, I am reminded as I write this post how lucky and blessed I am to have been afforded the opportunity to carry this baby for the last thirty-eight weeks--something I know so many women are not able to do.
This is why we have moms. They help us change our perceptions on situations that may otherwise cause emotional chaos.
Thanks, Mom.
I'm scared to have this baby. Like terrified. But not for the reasons you might think.
I'm not scared for the contractions that will make me want to scream in someone's face. I'm not scared to push a baby out of my body. I'm not scared to be a mom.
What am I so afraid of then, you might ask?
I'm terrified of bringing Charly into this world--a world without my baby brother. I've been dreading the day she'll come...but with anticipation no less.
It literally makes no sense to me that I would be so focused on the negative than on the positive, and believe me, I'm trying to flip the script, but it's easier said than done.
My mom had posted on Facebook earlier that she can't wait to welcome this bundle of joy fresh from heaven, and I guess that's what sparked the feeling that I should share my thoughts with you.
To feel with every fiber of my being that heaven is real has been the single most comforting thing in the wake of my brother's death. I've been given witness after witness that there is a place we go after we leave this life, and because of that, naturally I've been thinking about where we came from. And that answer, too, is heaven.
So why am I still so terrified?
There will never be pictures. No memories. She'll look at a family picture when she's able to put names to faces, look at Christian and say, "Mommy, who is that?" I don't think any amount of time can or will pass before that question will stop me from making a run for the first pillow I can cry into.
Sure, I've been told time after time that Charly's getting to know Christian now, and while that's comforting, it's equally disconcerting that she will forget any encounter she might have had with my little brother upon coming here to be with my family.
But then my mom said something that struck me and made my heart a little more grateful.
I've been having false labor contractions, but my parents didn't want to take a chance of missing the delivery of their grandbaby if said contractions were to shift into true ones. As my mom talked with me on the phone about leaving earlier than planned she said through choked back tears:
"I don't want to miss this because...Charly will be the last one to have seen my son."
While I feared for the future of my child stripped of the privilege to know her uncle--or rather fearing for myself welcoming a future for my child who will never know her uncle in this life--my mom instilled gratitude in me with her words. My child will be the last one to have been with and interacted with Christian, and for that I am truly grateful. I suppose I need to learn how to stomp out my jealousy and anger with gratitude.
It's been a long, rocky road the past ten months. Regardless, I am reminded as I write this post how lucky and blessed I am to have been afforded the opportunity to carry this baby for the last thirty-eight weeks--something I know so many women are not able to do.
This is why we have moms. They help us change our perceptions on situations that may otherwise cause emotional chaos.
Thanks, Mom.
