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.

Buttons and strings and other boy things

Here I sit, surrounded by laundry to fold, dishes to wash. The cacophony of my every day life is beating it's drum. But here I sit. Today has been a day of reminiscence and reflection.
Yesterday I had cleaned the twins room, top to bottom, windexed the walls, organized toys. All of that. Today My little boy (who I guess is not little at all) asked me so very sweetly if I would help him clean his room so it would look as nice as the girls. Of course I answered yes. He was just so sweet! So him and I are going through the things in his room. All the boy treasures that he keeps. I was trying to be quite mindful of what was important to him, although a lot of it looked like trash to me. He has bottle caps, tiny paper airplanes, buttons, rocks, a whole paper clip section. It overwhelmingly looks like junk. But I'm in there, and I'm cleaning with him, and he's organizing his "collections" and telling me what each thing is and why it's so important to him. And I realized, for maybe the first time? That this person whom I've shared my life with for 10 years, this person is not "mine" he is his own. He has his own ideas, and sacred things. These little tiny pieces of garbage are his treasures. Rubberbands, and screws, just lots of 'boy" things. This is just the beginning of his separate life. From here on out this boy will move farther away, and find his own way. It just seems so very impossible to me that he is capable of this, this growing up. I blinked and I missed it. He's not mine. He is his own. From now on I cannot lead him, only guide, quietly. His path will be his own. Not mine. His will his own. His "treasures" his own. I only hope that as he goes, he will look back once or twice. I hope he realizes that he is leaving me with my own treasures. This boy child is on the cusp of discovering him self. And I cannot wait to watch and see this flesh of my flesh find his way in the universe.
He will be fine, I'm not sure if I will, yet.