Lena at 1

 One year.

Your little sister is one year old now.

I can't believe how fast this year flew by. The milestones. They just came and went, one by one. I feel like such a new mom still, and yet it's been over 365 days since we met Lena for the first time. 

She is amazing. She crawled at 7 months and walked at 9. We weren't at all ready for that. Right now, she runs. Mostly AWAY from us (already!). She dances. She is obsessed with Yo Gabba Gabba and Peppa Pig. Anytime she hears singing, she shakes her bootie. She just figured out that she can give kisses to us, and she opens her mouth and just slobbers all over.  

She loves nothing more than playing with PJ's bowls in the kitchen. She dips all of her toys on her water bowl. She loves eating. Alllllll the food. She also enjoys putting every. Single. Thing. In her mouth. A couple of weeks ago, I pulled 3 screws out of her mouth. I almost died.

I think her favorite pastime might be feeding US food.  After she's already tried it.  

We've only had to go to the doctor for a sick visit once. And it was for a fever that went away that night.  She's been an incredibly easy baby.  She loves sleep. 

And she's happy. You can see it. 

And she makes ME so happy too. 

I'm so thankful for this little girl.  She's made our cloudy days so much brighter.  She wouldn't be here without you, Luke.  I can't help but think about whether I'd rather have you or her.  It's a thought no parent should ever think about and I could never settle on an answer because I want you both. 

So I like to think that a piece of you lives on in her.  I sincerely hope that's true.
 

Filling that hole (in my ♥)

Lena is 2 months old already.

The time has completely flown by. And all I've been doing for the past 2 months is watching her. Watching her eat. Sleep. Cry. Throw up. Grow. There are times when I feel like I can literally see her growing. Today she was so interactive with me and Jeff. She knows us and our faces and voices. We make her happy (sometimes?). 

It's already going so fast. 

I've felt a sensation of relief these past 2 months that I haven't felt since losing Luke, though. Relief that things are normal again. And I know that's weird. I feel like I should be more paranoid now that I have her here. But just watching her become who she is...it's settling. It makes me so happy to see. 

Maybe I'm relieved because I know she's getting a chance to be things. To know us as her parents. The chance that Luke never got. 

In a way, I feel like I'm betraying my grief--by being happy. But I know that it's at a turning point now. I still think of Luke. Every. Single. Day. I sometimes hear Lena coo and wonder to myself if that's what his coo would have sounded like. If he would have made the same squinty duckface smile that she makes. 

And then I know I'm not betraying my grief or him. These questions will haunt me for the rest of my life. I might not ask them as often at some point. But they'll always be there.  There's a pain in knowing that.

But watching her grow will so often trigger these feelings. And all I saw for him was in my imagination. They were my dreams for him that will never be realized.  

So it's a relief. To know that Lena can take my dreams for her and make them her own. To know that she'll know me as her Mom. That's the part about losing Luke that hurts still--that I never knew him outside of my body. Our relationship was in my head and imagination--In the future that now never existed.

To never have had a give and take relationship with him...still gets me. So I'm going to take every day I get with his sister and try to make it count enough for both of them.

Stillbirth--leaves a hole in your heart.  That space will always be occupied by my hopes that never got realized for him.  But slowly, I feel like my heart is filling in with other love. 

Thank god for the evolution of grief.  For letting me realize that there's room in there for both of them.

From both sides now

The past month and a half have been the fastest days of my life.

Lena has been with us one month and 16 days now, and it seems like she's been with us forever.

Getting the hang of parenting a newborn though...is hard. I know now what it means to have a newborn to take care of. Who needs your attention nearly 24 hours a day. 7 days a week. Who needs you in order to continue living.

It's so strange--watching the living, breathing thing that Jeff and I created--every day. Watching her grow and become more than she was yesterday.

There are times when I look at her and lose it. When I cry because of so many things. Sometimes it's because I'm so shocked at how perfect she is. Sometimes it's because I'm so tired of the screaming and crying that I just have to join her. And sometimes it's because I literally see her brother.

So many times in the past 16 months...I've thought about what Luke would look like. What he'd be doing. How he'd be progressing, developmentally. And it's so weird being on this side of things now. It's so weird being able to watch everything progress just how it should.

I've seen it all, from both sides now.

I'm surprised actually, how healing having Lena has been for me. I'm not consumed by my grief for Luke. But the moments that get me most are the times when she's quiet. When she's sleeping peacefully with her lips pursed together.

That's when my brain goes there and puts the two of them together.

I never got to see air breathe through Luke.  All I know of what he looked like was his quiet peacefulness.  His eyes closed.  His lips closed.  His body limp.  And there are times in the past month and a half where I've picked Lena up and seen him--perfectly.  It's both healing and heart-wrenching. 

I'm so happy she's here.  Taking care of a newborn is incredibly hard, obviously.  There have already been days where I've been so frustrated I just cried.  But for the most part, it's been amazing.  In some ways, I'm relieved that she looks so much like him.  At least they would have looked like siblings.  But Lena will grow up to be whoever she wants to be.  She'll reach her milestones at her own pace and grow and learn and just be.  

And until the end of time, I will never know any of that about Luke.  He's a forever-open book.  That will never be written.  I spent so much time looking forward to take part in his story, to teach him and learn from him--and still--to this day--I don't want to put that story to rest.  But I don't have a choice. 

There's no going backward to see him have life.  He is frozen in time with us for just that one day.  It's so hard accepting that that's all we got with him, when we'll have so much more time with his sister. 

It's so not fair.  That we can never be together or make it right or even know who he would have become.  My entire life--This wonder will always be there.  Without answers.  Just comparisons to his sister. 

Parenting from both sides, now.  They're both incredibly taxing.  Both emotional.  Both filled with love and exhaustion.  I guess they're not so different after all.  It's just too bad that the physical representation is completely different.

Joy

On December 12, true joy came back into our lives.

The joy that was supposed to come with you, Luke, came with your sister instead.

We went to the hospital and got there by 5:30am. I went to bed confident, feeling Bowie's kicks as I drifted in and out of sleep. I was nervous. Excited. Scared. What if everything somehow changed when we got there in the morning?

But it didn't. We got there, and got moved into a pre-op room immediately. We were greeted by awesome nurses--who knew us. They knew our story. Total relief. They hooked us up to a contraction and heartrate monitor, and everything looked good. They drew blood. Then we waited for the doctors to arrive. It was just daddy and I, and we couldn't wait till we could meet her. Soon. So so so so soon.

Before we knew it, it was 7:30, and I was getting moved into the operating room for the c-section. Daddy stayed behind in the pre-op room while they prepped me. When we got inside, it was SO COLD. It was a cold morning as it was, and that room was beyond freezing. Soon, our anesthesiologist came in, and it was the same doc that was there that night with you, Luke, when I got my epidural. She remembered us too. We waited for the spinal to kick in, and just like with the epidural, my blood pressure crashed pretty fast. I felt like throwing up, but the anesthesiologist was on it and got me some epinephrine to stop it. And before we knew it, the surgery began.

Daddy was right by my side, and he watched the whole thing. I was relieved I couldn't really see them cutting me open, as the smell from the cauterizing kinda made me sick. Mostly I felt drunk. But it happened so fast--And then, we heard your cries.

Finally. Finally. Finally. She was here, and she was alive.

A delivery that we've been waiting for for almost 2 years.

They took her aside to do all her vitals and to get her cleaned up, and before I knew it, Jeff was leaving the room to go be with her. The docs took their time to get me put back together, and then I was also getting wheeled down the hall--into our room--where we could finally be a family together. I couldn't believe it was finally real.

I got into the recovery room, and there was daddy holding her. She was perfect. 9 pounds 8 ounces and 22 inches long. Almost as big as you, Luke, but not quite. She had a head of hair as well...and honestly, she looked just like you. I cried. Tears of joy and happiness, all mixed together. They left us alone after a few minutes, and I still felt like it wasn't real. But slowly, reality set in. Our baby girl was here and we were all OK. The relief was indescribable.

Lena Bowie was here.

After the baby-moon, the nurse came in to run a blood sugar test to make sure she was eating ok. All was well. So we were to be wheeled up to the postnatal care 5th floor. When we got there, we got to do the thing we also didn't get to do with you, Luke. We got to ring the bell that rings Brahm's Lullaby at the hospital everytime a baby is born and moved up to recovery. Doing that...made everything feel like it was coming full circle. I hate the fact that we didn't get to do that with you, Luke. But we never left the L&D floor. We just went home.

We got settled in our room, and things started sinking in that everything was really OK. That first day in the hospital, Lena met her Nana and Opa, her cousin Ethan, and Auntie Lauren and Uncle Pooter. The general feeling was relief. Everyone was so relieved that everything went right this time.

That first night in the hospital, they checked her blood sugar again, and it was really dangerously low. Down to 13, when it was supposed to be about 40. They took her to get her formula-fed ASAP, and that was single-handedly the scariest part of our hospital stay. Apparently it's common for bigger babies to have issues regulating their blood sugar after birth, but her's was scary-low. They spent the next day checking her sugar pretty often. Sometimes by actual blood test, but mostly by pricking her heels. I felt so bad--her poor little heels were pricked apart.

By Saturday, it looked like her blood sugar was getting more normal, and we were cleared to really try breastfeeding without supplementing. That day was rough. I didn't have much, and even the lactation specialist kinda just told me to wait till my milk came in. She did give a LOT of valuable info, though, and that was awesome. By that night, my milk had come in, and all was well in feeding land.

Sunday, we got checked out by everyone, and were cleared for discharge around noon. The happiness...when we were told we could all three go home--together...welled up in my throat. I still couldn't believe it was happening. We got everything loaded into the car, and finally it came time to be wheeled out of the hospital. This time WITH our baby.

With a full car seat.

And a full heart.

I cried on the way home, driving down the same streets we drove down after we drove home without you, Luke, just 15 months ago. This was was the way things were supposed to be. Last time, so many thoughts ran through my head as we drove that agonizing trip home...How was I going to get through planning a funeral? How was I going to get through losing you? How would my life continue? Every question seemed so heavy. I had no idea what the answers were.

This time, the questions were so different. They were the same questions that every new parent asks themselves as they leave the hospital. How am I going to take care of this baby? Can we afford it? Will we ever sleep again? Questions that will all be answered...in time. But they were certainly not as heavy as the time before.

I've come to the realization that Lena wouldn't be here without losing you, Luke. In some ways, I hate that, but in some ways, it makes me love and appreciate you, and in turn, her, that much more. It makes me feel like there's a part of you living in her. You were the only two who ever lived in the same place. Maybe not together. But that will always tie you together.

Lena is 2 weeks and 2 days old right now, and she is absolutely perfect. When I look at her, my heart feels full, which I honestly never thought that I'd feel again after losing you.

I know our lives will never be perfect, because of all we've been through. But this is a start to feeling like things can be happy again.

Missing you always, though.

She's here

And she is perfect. Thank god. 

Lena Bowie Watanabe

Born December 12, 2013 | 8:00am

9 pounds, 8 ounces | 22 inches

Relief...at least for now...

7 days

If I don't fall apart
Will my memory stay clear?
So you had to go
And I had to remain here
But the strangest thing to date
So far away and yet you feel so close
I'm not going to question it any other way
It must be an open door for you
To come back...

Here we are.  38 weeks.  I don't really know how it all came around so quickly, but I feel like the days are just hurtling me toward next Thursday.  Toward the day we meet your sister, Luke.

I will say that the first part of this pregnancy was long...and hard.  And confusing.  The middle was muddled by a lot of back pain and physical problems that I didn't have with you.  Sometimes I was thankful for that--for something being SO different about these two pregnancies.  It gave me hope that the ending would be different at the time.

But this last trimester has absolutely flown by.  It's been a blur of happenings and emotions.  In a way, I'm thankful for that. 

Over the weekend before Thanksgiving, Daddy and I went to two Pearl Jam concerts.  When we bought these tickets back in July, I was hesitant how I would feel about being 36 weeks pregnant and going to a rock concert.  But going to shows is what we do...so we went.

In some ways, I feel like you were there with us.  First, there was the show Thursday night, that I didn't go to because it was a work night, and all the way down in San Diego.  But your crazy Daddy went to that one too.  And he called me during the show.  Unfortunately, I couldn't make out what was happening or playing, but when he got home, he told me that they played your song.  Light Years.  The song we had printed in your funeral service card...Because it meant everything that we felt about what happened to you.  And you have to understand...they never play this song.  They've played it one time this tour--the show your Daddy was at.  It's not pulled out very often...and then there it was that night he was there. 

And then there was Saturday night at the first show I went to.  There are really three songs in their gigantic catalog of music that I think of whenever I think of you.  Light Years is one.  The other is a b-side called Other Side.  And the last is a song called Come Back.  I've written about it here on this blog before--How it kills me to listen to now because it only makes me think of losing you. 

And they played it that night too.  A song that's hardly ever pulled out as well.  Oddly, this is the same exact song that was playing the night your Daddy proposed to me at that PJ concert in San Diego in 2006.

Everything's connected.  It was like you were there, telling us you were there.

This week is already filled with anxiety, but relief.  Relief that this stage of grief will be ending somehow.  But it's filled with anxiety about everything. 

The 39th week. 

Ironically, I will be exactly 39 weeks--to the day, when we deliver your sister via c-section Thursday morning.  The same exact day of my pregnancy that we met you after it was too late.  I will give birth to each of you on the same exact day of my pregnancy, and yet I will have exact opposite experiences.  The same, yet different.

Every day this week, we'll get closer to the day we meet your sister...and closer to the same exact day in your pregnancy that we said goodbye to you. 

To say I'll be relieved next Friday is an understatement.

I won't miss having to compare the two of your pregnancies.  I won't miss having to tell complete strangers that no, this is not my first child.  I won't miss telling them that you're no longer with us when they ask me how old you are.  Now people will just see your sister and assume.  Which I'm OK with, because it doesn't require me to drag down their day with a horrifying reminder that full-term stillbirth still happens in modern-day first-world societies.  And I'm living proof.

But what I will miss is you being the only child.  From here on out, there are two of you.  And I know grief will probably get more complicated when we get to experience the joy that she will bring into our lives.  As we get farther away from that day with you.  

Just know that you'll always be number one.  Wherever you are. 

And the days they linger on, yeah
Every night I'm waiting for
The real possibility that I may meet you in my dreams
Sometimes you're there and you're talking back to me
Come the morning I could swear you're next to me
And it's OK

It's OK.  It's OK.

Creeping fear

At 37 weeks and 3 days pregnant now, things are getting real again.

I've been here before, and the feelings are the same. 

That's what sucks. 

Every first time mom has the same fears. There's the fears about actually delivering the baby. Drugs or no drugs?  Will I be able to breast feed? Will we get everything we want done before baby gets here? Will I have any clue what I'm doing when baby gets here?

Will I be a good mom?

I think most would say that that question is more easily answered the second time around. But for me...I'm still asking that question. And I feel like I've been asking it for the past 2 years. Because I have been. 

This time, I feel like the fear is heightened. I've already been through the delivery part. Labor. Seeing my child for the first time. But I don't know what comes next. I've dreamed about it for the 39 weeks I was pregnant with Luke, and now another 9 months with Bowie. I've had over 76 weeks to plan and dream about what my child would become.  Who they would turn into.

And I still don't have the answers about what comes next.  Because I'm still not parenting either one of them.

Right now, I almost still don't feel like this is real. Like there is no end to being pregnant--or at least an end with a crying baby. That's the part of full-term stillbirth that screws with you the most. You have everything...and then nothing, just like before you were pregnant. 

One part of me feels like there's no more to come after this. But the other part of me yearns for all that I don't know. 

We're so close. I wish I didn't have to carry around the burden of these feelings--Of knowing what it's like to leave the hospital with an empty car seat.  I wish I was just a normal mom who gave birth and went home and became a Mom.

I feel like there's so much more riding on this, this time.

Because I can't possibly fathom going through all of that all over again. 

December 12, 2013 has to be different than September 10, 2012.  It just has to be.

Thankful for this...

And forgot to mention yesterday, I'm most thankful for this:

A healthy, moving, crazy baby that reassures me more often than not that she's ok.

It's exactly what I need.  Even if the NSTs take us EXTRA long because she's such a spazz. 

Hope you all had a peaceful Thanksgiving yesterday <3 <3 <3

Thanksgiving and two weeks to go

This Thanksgiving is already incredibly different than last year's.

And while we're still here, missing you every day, Luke, this year we have so much to be thankful for.  I'm so thankful that in just 2 weeks, our lives will change forever once again.  That we'll finally meet your little sister.

I'm thankful for all our friends and family that have held us up this past year.  For those that speak about you, and still remember you as part of our family.  I hope that never changes.

And I'm so thankful that I've found some sort of healing this past 14 months.  I'm thankful that I've been able to work through my grief to find joy in my life again.  It hasn't been easy.  And even though I can be happy again, I will always be missing you. 

But I have hope right now. I'm not sure if you're pushing that down on me from wherever you are, but I'll take it.  This pregnancy has been hard, but I'm surprised that I feel hope right now.  That I feel that everything can and will be OK with Bowie.  We have a plan.  Our doctors' visits have gone amazingly well.  And I truly believe that she will be OK. 

I accept that the panic will probably set in soon.  I have two weeks to go, but it makes me feel better knowing that we have a c-section scheduled already and everyone's as ready to go as can be. 

But the one thing that I approach with...maybe not hesitation so much as just...trepidation...is seeing your sister's sweet face for the first time.  I know I will be comparing it with yours.  And I wish I could just accept her for being herself...but with you missing, I don't know how I won't. 

And I fear that will make me miss you that much more.

But I will also be incredibly distracted.  With everything I missed out on with you.  And that worries me too.  I never want to be so distracted that thoughts of you fall by the wayside.

So onto another chapter of figuring out how to live this new life.  With your sister here with us, and you watching over us.   

Yesterday's NST

I feel like for the most part, I've kept my anxiety pretty in-check throughout this entire pregnancy.  I'll admit--The month of September was probably the worst.  Mostly because that month was all about Luke.  I found myself completely distracted--Bowie was almost an afterthought.  But she was there, and all was well, so it was OK.

Yesterday was the first day I really experienced those pangs of anxiety that hit--the uncontrollable fear that something's wrong.

I'm going to NSTs twice a week.  And they've mostly been fine.  But Bowie's an active baby, apparently.  And sometimes, they take some time for us to get a good reading on her heartbeat, which does make me anxious, but not uncontrollably so.

Yesterday...there was a different girl working in the office.  And she didn't know me or how active Bowie was (or my story, or really also...how to find the heartbeat really well?  I'm not even sure.) So it didn't start off well.  She really couldn't find her heartbeat.  Then it was sort of there--but very faint.  I could feel Bowie moving, but the fact that her heartbeat was so faint...scared the crap out of me.  I know she was probably facing backward, and that she was probably fine, but to talk yourself into that--it's hard when you've been on the other side of this.  Where everything is NOT fine.  When you're getting told that your baby is already gone. 

We sat...with the faint heartrate reading...for about a half hour.  Finally, the girl working went to go get a doctor.  She came in, and I was crying at that point.  It was at that point that I was sort of forced to tell her what I've been through (she wasn't my normal OB).  She completely understood my terrors, and somehow, found Bowie's heartbeat pretty quickly.  At that point, I was angry at the girl working there.  But I just wanted to get it done and over with. 

And then Bowie moved, and it seemed that finding her heartbeat was impossible again. 

The frustration...I know the girl working there was frustrated.  And then she told me that when she takes the reading to my doctor, she wasn't going to like it.  And that she'd probably send me over to the hospital for more monitoring...

And that's when I really stressed out.  It was really the wrong thing for her to say to me. 

But somehow, after moving and moving and moving, Bowie chilled out a bit.  And then she got the hiccups.  And after about an hour of trying and trying to get any stable reading out of her, she calmed down enough for us to get what we needed.

There are times I'm thankful that she's an active, moving baby.  It keeps my anxiety in check--especially considering that the REASON I went to the hospital with Luke was because I noticed he'd stopped moving... But then there are times when it scares me.  When things like this happen.  Or when I think about the potential of her getting too wrapped up in her cord like Luke--maybe BECAUSE she's so active. 

Yesterday's NST took almost 2 hours.  I swear that must be some sort of record.  I really hope that the rest of them go much more smoothly, but I just keep telling myself that we only have less than 4 weeks to go.  We can get through this. 

4 weeks.  We're so close.

How do you reconcile joy and grief?

It's November now.  And we're about a MONTH from meeting Luke's little sister...a baby who I'm not sure we'd be having had it not been for Luke's death. 

One year ago, I was in the depths of despair.  The freshness of losing Luke was so raw and new and I didn't understand it or know how to deal with it.

There are still some times when I feel like what happened to us wasn't real.  Like it was something I watched happen in a movie or a terrible TV show or to someone else.  In so many ways, it still feels unreal, to this day.

I wish it were true.

I wish what happened to us never had to happen to us.  I would be happy to have my 14-month-old son right now.  I'd be happy to not have had to travel this road of grief for the past year.  I'd be happy to not have to continue traveling it for the rest of my life.

I told myself that we'd always do what made us happy--when Luke died--to honor him.  I remember sitting in our bedroom with my sister a few days after his funeral, and making a promise to myself that I would do everything in my power to sell and move out of our condo within the next year.  BEING there made me unhappy.  It almost always had, but after losing him, it was the final straw.  And I'm proud to say that we did it--We sold that place. We're in a much happier place right now.  A place where I have hope, AND where our neighbors aren't terrible people.

And we said the same thing about trying for another baby...that we'd like to get pregnant again as soon as we could, since there was no medical reason stopping us.  And by some grace of God, we did that too.

There's so much to be happy about.  And it gets in the way of grief.  That's where grief is tricky.  No matter what you have that makes you happy--that brings you joy--that you've wanted and yearned for for a long time--There's always something lurking in the background.  The sadness.  The grief.  The heaviness of everything you lost.

I have four weeks to go until we meet Luke's little sister.  I'm already scheduled for a c-section because, like her big brother, she's supposedly going to be be a big one.  I'm happy that this date is set in stone.  That I know the day that we get to meet her and start our lives together.  But it all circles back to thinking about Luke a lot of times.  About the day that we got to meet, but didn't get to live the rest of our lives together.  It makes me nervous.  And scared.  Deep down I know that everything will be fine this time.  And I know that there will be nothing else in the world that will feel the same as the second we hear this little girl cry for the first time.  I can't wait to finally get to experience that happiness.

But I grieve that I had to miss that happiness with Luke.

These past 8 months have been a ride.  I feel like I've been pregnant forever.  I sort of have been.  I hate how unfair it is that I'll have to have been pregnant 18 out of the past 24 months only to have one child here with me.  I hate coming to grips with that.  It will never be right and I'll never be OK with it. 

I hate that I'm only going to experience that feeling of extreme joy with just ONE of my children.  And I don't want the sorrow I feel for Luke to taint my experiences with Bowie.  But I know that's impossible.

Everytime I see Bowie smile.  Hear her laugh. See her roll over for the first time.  Crawl.  Walk.  Go off to Kingergarten.  High school.  College.  Get married.  I'll be forced to think about missing all of those things with Luke.  I'll be forced to wonder about him.  About what never was or can ever be.  And that will always hurt my heart. I know it will get easier with time (at least I hope it will), but the reality will always be there.

At the end of the day, I can't stay in the depths of my grief forever.  I choose not to.  I don't want to.  But that doesn't mean that I won't miss Luke every single day for the rest of my life.  Joy will have to learn to live with grief...and that's ok.

Missed out

And with my last entry, not even 24 hours later, I was welcoming my brother and his wife's baby into the world.  Within 48 hours, 2 little lives came into my life--into our family.

I will say that being at the hospital with my brother was a breath of fresh air.  The last time I was there, it was all bad--from start to finish.  It started with fear that something was wrong with Luke.  And ended with me being wheeled out the back door without my baby. 

This time was different.  There were no fears.  Just happiness.  Excitement.  Crying babies, and happy parents.

The flip side is so much better than the side I experienced the first time.  I have hope that this can be our side in December.

But this past week has just been hard.  Everything has changed for the two people in my family I'm closest to.  My siblings are entering parenthood.  Nearly simultaneously.  And watching it unfold is hard on me.

Because it's all that I've missed out on this past 10.5 months.  Everything that was supposed to happen with us and Luke, but didn't.

I don't hold it against them. They're doing what any new parent does.  Exactly what I would have done in September if things had turned out differently.

They're sort of absent from the world--adjusting.  Getting used to feedings and new sleep schedules.  Cries in the middle of the night and wanting to take a shower.

Continued congratulations and pictures and comments from friends who can so identify with you as a new mom.

I never got that.  No one I knew identified with me.  No one should have to.

If they weren't my siblings and the people I'm closest to in this world, I would have hidden them on social media--like I've done to others these past 10 months.  But I can't do that to them.  Because this is my niece and nephew they're talking about.  I have a stake in their lives.  I want to see what's happening with these two-they mean a lot to me--a lot more than other people who have had kids since Luke.

This was the part that I feared the most--the aftermath of their pregnancies.  The part where our experiences no longer crossed paths.  And it sucks.  I could keep up with their pregnancies--I made it all the way to the end, just like they did.  But now, they're experiencing a whole new set of events and emotions that I never got to experience.

I don't know how much worse this would be, if I weren't actually pregnant right now myself.  I feel that it might have been torture.  I don't know, but I'm relieved that it's not.  I actually have something--for us--to look forward to.  Thank God.  I know that I'm not far behind.

But I should have been ahead of them.  And I'm just sad.  Mostly just sad for myself.  Not mad at them.  Just sad that this happened to me and Jeff and Luke.  

The good thing...is that the sight of those two babies brings me happiness.  I wasn't sure how that would go, but that's another relief--that I don't feel bitterness toward them for being born.

My brother and his wife named their son Ethan.  Ethan Luke.  When my brother told us on Sunday that it was a boy, I threw a party inside, because I knew that was what they were going to name him if he turned out to be a boy...and a really big part of me wanted to know for sure that Luke's name would have life.  And now it does. 

And with all of this swirling around so quickly--I think it IS doing something to me that makes me more confident about this baby.  That Bowie WILL be born and be fine.

Which is more than I could ask for right now.

We find out if Bowie's a boy or a girl on Wednesday.  We're in the middle of packing up our house to move the last week of this month.  So much is changing.  But right now, I'm looking forward to all of it.

All the things we'd hoped for, for you in life, Luke...

But were shattered by your death?

We get to pass them onto someone else.

You're going to be a big brother.  Sometime this December.

I know that some people might think that by having another baby, we'll be "fixed". That our hearts will be mended. Because we'll finally walk away with a living breathing baby. 

But this doesn't fix anything. The hole you left in our lives and hearts will always be in my heart. We'll always be missing a child at the dinner table. My "oldest" child in this world will not truly be my oldest child, and from an outsider's perspective, their point of view will always be incorrect.

The questions have already started this time around...

"Is this your first?!  No?  How old is your oldest?!" (This has already happened)

I've told myself that I will not lie.  I've already had to put on the anti-liar hat and say things to complete strangers that I'm sure were not the careless answers they expected to this question.  This child is our second, and you were our first, Luke.  And you always will be.  Nothing can change that order.  I think about just how much we're missing by not having you here with us.  I think about the fact that I'm the oldest sibling in my family. What would my family be like if I weren't still here?

It's things like that that are hard to grasp.  We'll never know what we're missing about you.

But this little baby...has already given me hope.  The worst has already happened with you.  It can't possibly happen again.

So we'll get to have a new version of our family.  I wish you could be here with us at Christmas when we welcome this little one...but I know you'll be watching to make sure everything goes right.

In a way, that's a comfort--I have you, up there...to watch over me--to make sure this goes right.

I wish we had years and years to grieve your death.  But our time here is short, and you've shown me that.  But you've also made me a Mom.  And I guess it makes me special that I'll have one angel watching over me, and I'll have one here with me on Earth.

Now all we have to do is get through the next 5ish months.

I've been writing a few entries before we wanted to let this out of the bag...So those will probably be up in the next few days...

Baby's nickname is Bowie.  As in...Rainbow Baby.  But also...it connects to Luke.  My sister and I nicknamed Luke Jemaine in the womb.  From Flight of the Conchords--mostly because we thought it was an awesome name to never use.  But Jemaine appears as David Bowie in a dream that Bret has....and, it all just seemed to fit...So until this one has a real name...It's sticking.