Triggers

I love my healthy, living and very active children so much. This weekend they were triggers for missing her. These words came to me during a long overdue and much-needed cry, “I want you to come back and be with me so I could love you too. Please come back so I could love you too. I just want to hold and love you.” And I also had a new one, “This is not a fair trade.” When I get to the place where I want her to be here I remind myself that I wouldn’t have either of them now with me – but this weekend I had a bit of a rage about that. It isn’t a fair trade. I want them all – all 3 of my babies here with me.

We went to the cemetery today with some flowers. This was the first time we took the children out of the car with us. We told Big K that we were visiting a place where we remember someone. As we placed our flowers at her gravestone, he was very sweet and wanted to put flowers in the spots for the other babies. We had extras to share so we directed him to place a flower in each of the available canisters for the other babies in our “Little Ones” section of the cemetery. We didn’t tell him anything about babies or death or anything more specific than, “Put another flower over there.” He was very eager to share our flowers. It was endearing to watch.

I suppose one day we will tell both of them about her. I’m not sure when.

Curiosities about My Stuff

Sometimes I wonder if we simply have too much stuff. My husband and I have been shopping for a new home. A Bigger home. It seems we outgrew our current home the day I moved in. Add two children and we are bulging at the seams. 6 months ago we started moving bins of our belongings into a small storage unit in order to make our home seem less stuffed as we proceed through the listing and selling process. It worked – very well as a matter of fact – we sold our home in 8 days. 8 days!

Things happened so quickly with the sale, then our back-up plan for where we’d live in the event things did happen quickly fell through so we found ourselves without a home. Temporarily. Beginning May 1, lasting 6 weeks my family – 2 adults and 2 children – a toddler and an infant to be exact – will be renting a one bedroom apartment. Presently, we are in the process of clearing, organizing and packing our belongings that will be moved into an even bigger storage unit while we live in our apartment.

I’m finding this whole process curious.

While organizing and packing I’m experiencing my attachment issues as they emerge. I’m not doing too bad, but I am noticing my struggles to let go of:

Clothes. My clothes and the children’s.

Intellectual materials – yoga magazines and books.

Toys. The children have A LOT of toys! I don’t do too badly with buying new toys – we buy some. But, I do get a little nutty at the baby resale events. How can I resist a $7 Fisher Price Talking Farm!!?? OK, well, after last weekend’s sale – we now have the farm and the talking house. I have an entire bin full of soft infant toys. Teething toys. Rattles. Shakey toys. Chewey toys. Wiggly toys. They are mostly hand-me-downs, but still…I just packed them up to take with us. Why? I’m also struggling to pack any of Big K’s toys. What if he notices that one of his 16 Thomas puzzles is missing? Oh no.

Cookbooks, food magazines and binders full of recipes. I love looking at food magazines, but I often go to the internet when I’m in the mood for a new food. It isn’t like I index my paper recipes or magazines. Well, not all of them.

So my basic self psychoanalysis is that I have food issues, vanity issues and I spoil my children.

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Joy 2011

 
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Today’s Stop

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In some ways it worked out better. There were opportunities that may have not been available had I not been available because I would have been busy with motherhood. Growth. Chance to rekindle my relationship with my career. With myself. Made a few new friends. Stregthened my bonds with my husband. Reevaluated some familial relationships. Let some things go. Let some people go.
Kyle.
Sometimes no matter how hard you work on a certain path – the choice isn’t really your own. An entirely different path is determined for you. Fight it and struggle or embrace the road and make it your own.
I’m sure I sound cliche – but – in times like this – I realize that life is so much bigger than me!

Unmarked Pink Box

I might be a little goofed up. I impulse bought a pack of NB-3mo pink baby girl bodysuits and a pink newborn cap at Target the other day. I wrapped them in pink sparkle paper (Lurex) with sparkly silvery ribbon and a sparkly bow. I put them under the tree in an unmarked box. The box is still there. Nobody asked about it. I didn’t tell anybody anything. I’ve gone through phases of eyeing and touching all the pretty little baby girl clothes while shopping for Kyle over the past year. They’re just so darn cute. I hadn’t really looked at anything lately. And I’ve never bought anything. But, I couldn’t stop myself the other day. I didn’t want to. I just wanted it. And I wanted to wrap the things in this really pretty pink Lurex paper. We have a giant roll. So I did. I donno…

Let’s Do It Again, Dear

OK, I feel great! I mean, I’m tired. At times¬†grumpy. Prone to flashes of snark and bitching. That sounds like normal me, right?

I’m kind of lumpy. Meaning, flesh and bone and other bodily things have shifted around – been rearranged –¬†but overall I look and feel pretty good. Wearing size 4 pants again is nice.

The lights are back on upstairs. I see colors properly. Genuinely smile. Laugh. Enjoy. Am able to reflect but not feel overwhelmed in sadness or grief.

Today.

And I think – pretty regularly,¬†Let’s have another.

Baby.

Baby Boy Bunsey¬†is getting SOOOOOOOOOO BIG. He’ll be a year soon.¬†Less than 2 months away. ¬†

It would be wonderful to do it again.

Maybe my postpartum depression won’t be so awful the next time and I can enjoy it a little more fully.

Maybe I won’t be totally wacko during pregnancy next time.

It is, after all, so amazingly wonderful and awesome and overwhelmingly beautiful and fantastic.

He is wonderful.

I can do it again.

My body can do it again.

Can my darling husband?

Wished

Doug told me that he held her and wished he could bring her back to life.

That was random.