Thirty-two

Today is my birthday.

I am 32...

(Born in 1981, not 1881 like my sweetly confused eight year old thought.)

I spent a good part of today crying. Some happy tears. Some sad tears. Tears while driving. Tears while hiding in the bathroom. Tears while laying out my clothes. Tears were big today, yo.

I cried today because I couldn't help but compare this birthday with my thirtieth birthday. (I scarcely remember turning thirty-one much less living the past year) When I blogged about that date two years ago I was filled with optimism. I spoke of a cancer free almost two year old. I spoke of fixing my marriage. I spoke of knowing God more closely and gaining patience in my life. I spoke out through my writings of happiness and contentment and a future...I had big plans for being 30.

Unfortunately, thirty was not the year I found myself or rested in my optimism. Thirty was the year I almost died...the year that I fought with all I had in me for Pipers life. The year I just wanted to keep my little family afloat. The year I yearned for simplicity and the year that I held my second born daughter, beautiful and broken, as she died.

Thirty sucked in such a big way.

Thirty was without a doubt, the worst year I have lived and hopefully, will live.

And now two short years later I am beginning again to scratch my way to the surface. I have felt peace and I have felt a despair that would frighten the most staunchly faithful soul.

Often within moments of each other.

Of thirty-two I have no expectations.

I have a heart filled with joy after birthing the sweet boy I call Beck. I have a heart filed with thankfulness that God is continuing to allow me to raise and love my Linley. I have a heart filled with trust as I look to my husband and learn more about how to be the wife I need to be...irregardless.

I am learning. Two years after I had an overflow of wit and optimism I fear I am left a weary but upright woman. I feel every single one of my thirty-two years and I relish them each despite not remembering large chunks of a few of them.

I am thankful for them.

For each of these thirty-two years, I have lived and breathed and even, hurt. There is a quote I see floating around the Internet and it rings so true to me...

"do not regret growing older, it is a privilege denied to many." (unknown)

So I will grow older. Perhaps wiser. Always as faithfully and deliberately as I can muster up the strength for. And here's to you, thirty-two. Be kind to me...I'm only waiting to see how you unfold and I am thankful you've arrived.

Welcome, Jasper Beck Needham

...I am so very happy to hold you.

May 6, 2013 at 9:20pm, weighing 8.5 and measuring 21 inches long.

We are entirely smitten with his sweet temperament and big blue eyes. Beck prefers to be skin to skin with mommy and has the sleeping gig down pat...not so much with the breast feeding but we are working through that hopefully. He and Linley have already spent many moments staring into each others eyes, he adores having his cheeks stroked and has peed on his Daddy, not once but twice while having his diaper changed.

He is a perfect addition to this small little crew and we are thankful that Gods sovereignty placed him here.

40 weeks/9 months/my due date/may 3, 2013

That's today. And unless this little man sees fit to burst out of my womb within the next 45 minutes, he will "officially" be late. I'm ok with that since I do still feel pretty good and all my appointments are showing no concerns but even so, it sure would be nice to meet him.

Apparently, I currently have two speeds I am rolling with each day:

1) frantic cleaning/nesting

2) comatose napping

Neither are a joke either...my house constantly smells so fresh and so clean and the laundry is neatly folded in the appropriate drawers. The winter clothes have been replaced with summer attire, the gardens have been weeded, quick and ready to grab breakfasts have been cooked and are frozen, and I have quite a back up supply of all things household and personal care...just in case I go into labor quickly and Chad can't find Kroger while I am nursing this new son of mine and Linley finds herself without toothpaste.

And then when these cleaning/nesting spells are over, I lay down for a short rest and wake up, drooling beautifully, 3 hours later. And I am no napper, unless apparently I am pregnant then all previous likes and dislikes fly out the window.

Except for my love of cream cheese topped with red pepper jelly and eaten with club crackers...possibly in 10 minutes or less. Possibly. Very possible.

I feel quite ready.

Linley spends a lot of time talking to my womb and asking Beck to "please give mommy some contractions soon" and Chad kind of eyes me from the other side of the bed each time I attempt to roll over...I think it's safe to say I am frightening to him, though he hides it well when he tells me I am pretty.

He's done this a time or two before.

So we continue to wait. My next appointment is Monday afternoon and I wouldn't mind missing it for having had Beck or being in labor but I have a feeling I will be waddling in as planned.

He is coming so the details are all ok. I have prayed that he will be a contented little man and if his lack of desire to have more space is any indication, then I may have had an answer to prayer indeed.

I cannot wait to meet you son.

The art of grief

There is an art to grieving. I didn't know this and even as we began our efforts to grieve well last April, I was unaware of the magnificent attempts I was going to need to make it each day. I just figured I would cry a little, laugh when forced and the earth would rotate on, oblivious to to my new role.

Sometimes grief numbs and sometimes it floods with more emotions than are easily worked through.

A friend who recently lost a child was telling me how hard it is for her to simply get out of bed. That there is little to no desire to thrive and surviving is simply because other babies rely on us. Living lacks joy and brings tears.

She no longer feels her worth as she did before losing her flesh and blood.

And I get that.

See, when you are still alive and your child is not, you will despair. You will feel helpless and overwhelmed and sad. A sadness so deep that you probably just nod at it in acknowledgment every once in a while knowing full well that if you were to fully acknowledge it you simply would die.

This is the truth and it is ugly.

People who have not lost this magnitude cannot comprehend. I have learned to be selectively honest when asked how I am doing...many women who would hear me talk would be concerned. They cannot understand and they somehow need to still see me moving on and praising God and smiling. They need this almost more than I do, if that is possible.

And that is where the art comes in.

Where being honest collides with being depressing and I am left a grieving but emphatically/weakly faithful woman. Where I can tell you all about how dark my thoughts grow at times and still show you that I am wearing pants and my hair was recently washed .

This is the art.

Grieving honestly while breathing still.

Sobbing then showering.

Staying in bed for the extra moments so you have the strength to mother.

Again, people want to see me as strong. I imagine in the dark parts of their fears they need to know one can survive loss like this...they don't want to know that it is simply by the Grace of God that I am still here.

Still grieving.

Still making the decision to live.

So when you hear a woman say she is okay, she may be in that moment. And in the next she will be hiding in the bathroom at church because there are way too many almost 4 year old little girls running around, reminding her.

Love this woman.

She doesn't have a clue how to be this sad any more than you do, but she was thrust in to the balancing act of remembering how much breathing hurts and how much and many rely on her to do so anyways.

One year later this hasn't changed.

"there's a whole lot of you there"

Someone said this to me the other day.

I'm not easily annoyed or offended so I just laughed and asked them to bend over and pick up the pen I had dropped because there's not sense in not getting some sympathy help from someone who can see me large and in charge.

And I love it.

My hips ache, my left foot is often swollen and my right leg twitches none stop. I have heartburn just about every day and a little boy with constant hiccups.

And I'm not waddling....

Ive got pregnancy swagger...

Would you believe me if I said that I love this beautiful opportunity? That even as I complain about a physical ailment, I am rejoicing because I am having a child. You best believe I don't take that for granted and I appreciate it.

I "swaggered" out to the front yard today to water these beautiful red tulips that Chad planted for me last fall and then roped him into taking a picture of me...waiting at 36 weeks...for my son.

Indeed there is a whole lot of me. Both girls were pretty petite and I never got this large with them, I am certain.

Four weeks to go...

Easter pictures

I have a beautiful daughter.

Inside and out, Linley is quite stunning and I forget sometimes to document this in both photos and stories. Our church had an Easter Egg Hunt the day before Easter and we were able to participate this year...unlike last year, which I do not remember, but apparently they chose to not have in honor of my daughters funeral a few hours later.

Have I mentioned I am in a good, good, good church?

I am.

And I am thankful so many times over.

But this year we were all about Easter Egg hunts and Linley had 3 separate ones (church, school and Nanas house) and did a great job of scoring Mommy and Daddy some good loot that I now have stashed up on the fridge so it's relatively "out of sight and out of mind" until I find Chad digging through it which makes me need a jelly bean that I hadn't even thought about 2 minutes before.

Here she is. This is not an aggressive child in any way, shape or form...in fact she might have forgotten the entire hunt for the way she tends to people watch. The little guy lined up next to her was asking how was she going to get the most eggs and she looked totally taken aback...

Again, not aggressive but beautiful.

And I miss you Piper.

Most mothers don't have to ever experience having a child die, much less the frustration of how to acknowledge the literal day. They get to celebrate birthdays and first steps and report cards. Me? I get to stumble over the wording of mentioning the anniversary of Pipers death. We sure as heck won't be celebrating it, not as we were able to both celebrate and mourn her birthday but it's not exactly a date one can just skip over.

Especially when it is the completion of the first year. The one I wasn't entirely certain I would survive in one piece.

But I did. And Chad and Linley did. Heck, we are soon bringing Beck into the fold as a sign that life hasn't entirely stopped around here. We have survived and at rare moments, we find ourselves thriving, albeit only by the grace of our good God.

Even so, as we found April 3rd rolling towards us not unlike a long black train barrels towards its destination, we mulled over what to do with ourselves. When we realized it was smack dab in the midst of Linleys spring break and it was a Wednesday, which is Chads only guaranteed day off each week, we quickly put two and two together...

And drove to the beach together which was the perfect place for 3 sad faces to hunker down and simultaneously weep and smile for who once was in our world 365 days ago.

For just over 365 days I have woken without Piper. It has not gotten easier. I did not cry less today than I did April 4, 2012 after that first night without her. I still feel an overwhelming sense of forgetting something each and every time I pull out of my driveway. I still want to buy Bugles at the grocery store. I still hear her voice in my dreams and I still hold my arms as though she were securely settled into them when I shower each and every morning and I rock in grief.

I've been told the second year is the worst...Im simply not certain that is possible.

Thank you all who remembered.

And I miss you Piper.