It's been five months since we lost Baby Burkhalter. Even though my twelve-week bean looked more like an amphibian than a human, I still give our baby a name because I loved it dearly. I would lay in bed at night, terrified about how my life would change adding a third child, but comforted by the fact that unlike my other two pregnancies, I was already deeply in love with the child growing inside of me. I would also lay in bed rubbing my ever-expanding belly (it's amazing how fast it grows with the third pregnancy) and made a vow to myself not to get so absorbed in how my body was changing. With both Cale and Riley I griped about gaining weight and was always so nervous to step on that evil weekly scale, but this time I promised to give my baby the best home possible, even if it meant gaining fifty pounds.
But then my baby left me.
This weekend Alex and I went shopping for some warmer clothes for the kids. It's frosty in the mornings and I feel like a terrible parent dropping Cale off at preschool without proper layers. Riley grows like a weed and I swear she needs new clothes every few weeks. After we put the kids to bed I decided to get all of their new clothes ready to be washed. I tore off the tags and started separating colors and for whatever reason I started to weep. Sob, really. Alex came into the room and was obviously startled by my quick change in mood. Between sobs I told him that all of these clothes were too big..."I wanted to be folding new baby clothes.".
I was beginning to think that time was making things easier. I assumed time was going to help me get over the baby I never really had. It's proving to be quite the opposite however. Little things that should be harmless can trigger something inside of me that instantly set me off.
I heard a friend of mine tell me that a January 1st delivery would be the absolute worst. January 1st was our baby's due date and even though she meant nothing hurtful behind her comment, it took everything in me not to crawl in a hole and hide.
On the other side of this coin is the agony of trying to decide if we should try to have another baby. My prayer since the day we found out we lost our baby was that if we were meant to try again that God would make that desire known in our hearts. Sometimes I am so confused that I don't know where my desire is. What if we make the wrong choice and we lose that baby, too? Or what if we make the choice to have another baby and it turns out that whatever is going on with Cale is genetic and we then have two children with disabilities. My fragile little heart would not survive that. I wish God were here to sit with me and tell me what He wants for our family, in LOUD, AUDIBLE, words.
The stress of family planning is going to make me older much faster than I'd like.
1 comment:
Erica- God knows your heart. He changed your outlook with the last pregnancy and he can do it again!
You are a strong and amazing mama, and you're doing a fantastic job with your kiddos. I pray for healing for your heart, I'll add clarity too :)
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