day 7 a photo that makes me happy

This summer, in the midst of our grief, My kids and I went to Utah for a month. We had a blast, hiking, fishing, roasting weenies, watching fireworks. It was good for us. We were able to relax and just "be" for a while. This picture captures my babies, in a rare moment of all of them getting along, goofing around and just having fun :) These guys are so amazing. Each so different, and silly and wonderful. Jakob is such a joyful person. Always willing to help. Almost always smiling. This is my first baby, my only boy and I treasure him so very much. Claire, in the red, is my "me" child. She is so much like me when I was her age. Shes sensitive and needs lots of reassurance. She's hilarious and sweet and such a cool kid. Stella, my tiny Stella, is the sweetest little soul. She's quiet, but funny. Her and Jake are thick as thieves and are always cooking up some scheme or another. I love these little souls and thank God that I am their Mother.

My body is a wonderland(fill)

So. We are "officially" Trying to conceive. I hate this so much. I've been down this road called infertility too many times, each leaving me more and more angry at my body. Jakob was easy. Jakob was a very pleasant surprise. We started TTC again right after Jakes first birthday. Back then I was excited, and optimistic. This is before each month became something to dread. Each cycle that ended in failure a little stab in my heart. We finally saw a fertility specialist about a year after we first started. Right away they put me on clomid, watched my hormone levels and were very aggressive with treatment. Two cycles in we were pregnant with our twins, Stella Moon and Claire Delune. Around their first birthday we started trying again, this time agreeing to "see what happens" and not use fertility treatment. We were both at the stage of "if it happens it happens" Though secretly I was really wanting that fourth baby. 6 years of trying but not trying. And then Leta! I was thrilled! Each bout of morning sickness a small victory. Each craving a triumph. I watched as my belly grew, gloriously big. Oh how I loved that belly! I was so proud of it! We were so excited. Well, we all know how that story ended, and that's not really what this post is about. It's not about death. Or broken bones. It's about life. A new life? A new hope, new beginning.
People judge us wanting to try again. They think we are crazy. I know the "what if's" I know the risks. And I am willing to try this again. . Maybe it's selfishness, maybe it's insanity. I don't know, but I feel like I have to do this, am supposed to.
I am keeping my fingers crossed. I am doubtfully optimistic at this point.

A little tantrum for the soul

Everyone thinks I'm better. I'm not. I'm just really really talented at pretending, apparently. This morning has started out rough. Claire didn't want to wear pants to school. She wanted a dress, I guess. But it was cold, so pants were totally happeneing. She melted down, melted into this angry ball of pissed offedness, and ire. Red faced and screaming, I held her tiny foot in my hand and put her socks on for her. I dressed my 6 year old much like a baby. The whole time, she was keening. Socks, Pants, shirt, sweater. Each item making her more and more mad. Ponytail, barrettes, brush teeth. I quitely crooned to her the whole time. And that, that is not how I normally would have handeled it. I would have been enraged with it! I would have yelled, and fought and been so furious. I didn't get angry. Sure I wasn't turning cartwheels that my 6 almost 7 year old was acting like a baby. But I wasn't mad at HER. I understood. There are days where if you could see into my heart, my mind, my soul, you would see ME screaming and yelling and hysterically crying. You would see me throwing the mother of all tantrums. I'm angry! I don't want to do this thing anymore, be the mother of a dead baby. I want to go back to the time where I was happy. Life was good! I want to be ME, before. It's not at all fair that I lost Leta. It's not at all what is supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to give birth to a dead child. One with broken bones. I wasn't, am not at all equipped to handle this.

And so, Today I dressed my 6 year old, and crooned to her. I hugged her, and held her and wiped away her tears. I walked her onto the bus.

Sometimes, we all need some patience and understanding. Maybe in doing for Claire, I was doing for me what no one seems able or willing to do.