I wasn't going to mention it. I wasn't going to blog about it. I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it. So why am I here writing this post on something that hurts so much? I guess, because it happened. And as much as I'm trying to ignore the date and just be thankful for all I have, the baby that should have been arriving this week deserves at least a mention.
The thing is, I'm still heartbroken, you guys. I'm still hurting so much. I can't help but to constantly dream of "what should have been." She/he should be here. Mac should be a big brother. I should be starting maternity leave with an armful of newborn goodness and a healthy fear of never sleeping again for the rest of my life. Our home and hearts should be full for the holidays. Instead, I'm left with a slightly empty feeling. My belly is empty (other than coffee and Kit-Kats, the breakfast of champions) and my heart is aching. I still feel so broken.
Every day I give thanks for the perfect, happy, wonderful little boy that made me a mother and I pray for patience and the ability to trust in a plan for our family that is so different right now than the one I want. I ask for strength to keep trying, despite my body's refusal to cooperate. I ask for humility and perspective. I ask for peace, for my heart to be satisfied with all the blessings I've been given. I ask for graciousness, the ability to be happy for those around me who are expanding their families, even if I'm not. I pray for the little one that should have been celebrating a birthday this week. I pray for our loss. I pray for our family. I pray for our future.