I’ve started this post many times in my head and on paper and I can’t seem to get it right. I want to say so many things but struggle with what to share and what to hold back. This part, I think is kind of funny because so many people often say “oh, I just don’t know what to say” or “I didn’t want to ruin a good day if you were having one” but the truth is… same! I don’t know what to say either. I don’t know if me saying something will bring your day down or make you not want to hang around me as much. So as much as you don’t know…. Me too. I wish I knew and I know you do too. By the way, it’s okay if you don’t know. And it’s kind of you to not want to ruin my day. I think it’s very thoughtful that you are trying to think of something but can’t find the right words and that you are trying to figure out how I’ll handle talking about everything. That’s so kind of you. Please do remember though, if it’s on your heart to say or share or talk to me… just say it. You aren’t responsible for my feelings, responses, or reactions. I am and I will take full responsibility for them. So please, don’t be afraid to say something or ask something or pray something. More than likely you have made my day.

Anyways,
what I do know is that God is good. He is faithful and loving. He hasn’t punished me. As a matter of fact, He says children are a blessing. Which means Huxley is STILL A BLESSING! I’m not shouting this in anger. I’m shouting it in praise. He is still a blessing and God has blessed me with him. Huxley is still my child and I’m blessed by that.
I also know that Huxley is in way better hands right now. Even though I still long for him to be in mine. It’s so unexplainable the feeling of being fully content and completely heartbroken at the same time. Those are such contradictions that my brain has a hard time with it, yet, here I am with both of those 100% true.

For those of you who aren’t local and read this blog but don’t actually see us in person, I want you to know, we’re okay. We laugh and joke and see friends. We go to church and praise God for who He is and for our (very specific and detailed and divinely made) journey through life. Sure, every single day has hard moments, sad moments, even angry moments that revolve around us losing Huxley BUT… but, we have the immense honor of serving a God that can use those emotions and turn them for good. He’s given us our emotions. Somehow we are now able to mix those emotions i mentioned above with those of joy, happiness, and hope. So while my blog tends to shed more attention on grief and what this process looks like I hope there are streams of light pouring in and showing the love we’ve been given, the hope that we have, and the beauty being made from ashes that we WILL experience one day.

Some days it’s easier to see the positive and others…not so much. Even on those not so easy days though I try to come back quickly to the reality that Christ is with me, He loves me and He is not surprised by anything in our lives. He knows the biggest and littlest details. I can trust that He will do what only He can do- with me, my family, the sorrow, the joy, and every circumstance- He is still Lord of all.

While I can’t speak fully into their journey as it is theirs and not my own I will share some of the moments we’ve had as a family that have given us joy in the sadness, broken our hearts further, melted our hearts, or just been what’s kept us holding on for dear life.

When we first found out that we had lost Huxley we didn’t know what to do or who to tell first. We knew we couldn’t quite tell my family yet because they’d be with the kids and we wanted to be the ones to tell them. Eventually we were able to get a good time for Billy to head home and let them know in person. They were sad and didn’t quite understand. I’m not sure our 2 year old grasped any of it and our 5 year old was more confused than anything.
The next time Billy saw them was after Huxley was actually born and he went home to let them know mommy was fine and Huxley had been born. On that trip Billy stayed a bit longer with them and had dinner at the house just the three of them. At dinner we usually light candles and eat by candlelight and natural light with our blinds open and that night was no different for them in that. But as Billy lit the candles Molly started to sing happy birthday and when the to whom part came up she said to Huxley. She wasn’t wrong, it was his birthday but how did she know that him being here, even though also gone, also meant happy birthday? We still don’t know but it was sweet. Then, before Billy came back to the hospital, Samuel rushed to write a card for him which we have saved and it says “happy birthday Huxley, I wrote this card for you. I hope you love it. Love buba” then he drew a picture of the 5 of us watching fireworks and told Billy to bring them back to the hospital for Huxley because he would love them. We took Huxleys picture with them because Samuel is right, he would have loved them. Later the kids came to the hospital to meet him. Molly was excited about the baby and touched his face and blew kisses. Samuel had a harder time. Knowing that this baby wasn’t alive and having a little more understanding he was more reserved and scared. He didn’t want to hold him and he cried looking at him just sad that his brother wasn’t here with us but we could still see his body. I certainly didn’t see my first dead body at 5 and don’t blame him for being apprehensive. While we waited for the photographer to get to the room a nurse came in to get some bloodwork and he asked Billy a question about Huxley and why he wasn’t alive that sent the nurse into tears and running out of the room. She left to gather herself, apologized (which she did not need to, she was sad with us and I appreciated it) and came back to finish her work. She doted on Huxley every time she came to the room after that.

After getting home it got harder. Molly only being 2 didn’t quite understand why we weren’t bringing him home. So she asked for him a lot. Asked if he was back in my tummy a lot and asked to see pictures of him…a lot. We answered truthfully and always obliged to pictures. She is still the one person that says his name cheerfully. Everyone else kind of says it with a hint of sadness. Even we do. How could we all not? We’re all sad. Us, you guys, everyone who hears and knows this story is sad with us so of course we say his name with some sadness in our voices, but not Molly. She says his name happy and cheerful and excitedly. I love it every single time now, whereas before it kind of threw me off to hear it that way.
One thing we do with our kids is gifts from each other when we bring a new baby home. So the big kids got Huxley a stuffed animal which is present in most pictures and Huxley got each of the kids a small gift. The kids knew this before we lost Huxley so we didn’t forgo the exchange we gave them their gifts and said that it’s what Huxley had “picked” for them and he would be happy for them to still have the gifts even though he doesn’t get to be with us. After opening their gifts, Samuel immediately got up and started drawing a picture and when he was done he gave it to me and Billy and said “this is a picture of this very moment but with Huxley alive!!” He said it with so much joy and then said “because then it would be perfect” he was right. It would have been a perfect moment. The picture is Billy holding Huxley, Huxley holding two presents and me, Molly and Samuel sitting on the floor waiting to open them. It’s a picture we will frame because how I wish it were a true full and perfect moment. The memory of what could have been seen by the eyes of a 5 year old and drawn onto paper is what we will hold onto until that moment happens in heaven.
A few times Samuel has said that he’s sad about Huxley not being here. Sad that they were suppose to all dress up as 3 superheroes but now it’s not possible, or that they were going to share a room and have the best bunk beds when he was bigger, and how they were supposed to be best friends because that’s what brothers do. So many times those things just sting and melt my heart all at once. Samuel loved Huxley so fiercely. He even sort of named him! Every day I would drop him off at jiu jitsu he would kiss my belly and say I love you Huxley. And every night before bed he would kiss my belly and baby talk to him telling him how cute he was going to be and how much fun they’d have. A lot of dreams were crushed for Samuel the day we lost Huxley and it breaks my heart in a whole different way to see it. The kids move fast through their emotions though. They’re sad and then move on, change the topic, and are happy again. It’s incredible. Samuel has been a rock though. Anytime I’m sad he reminds me where Huxley is, or sometimes he just sits and holds my hand, and when I was barely getting out of bed he’d come lay with me and say he loves me. That kid is something special and we are all so lucky to have him. Molly hasn’t been sad just yet about Huxley but she asks for him often, every day in fact, and she wants to see him and has recently started saying “Huxley home” and I’m not sure if she’s asking when we will bring him home or if she’s stating that he is home (because he is) but I love that she’s thinking of him.
These kids are brave and caring and I have no idea what their little hearts are feeling but I know they’re grieving and processing just as much as we all are.

I don’t have any clue on how to tie this one up nice and neat because this is another one of those hurts that I just have a hard time fathoming and watching but I have to watch and make sure they’re okay. Is what I do know is that we have an amazing community looking out for our kids, watching them, encouraging them, and being there for them just as they are for us. I know that these kids have made joy appear back in our lives faster than I could have ever imagined. It’s okay that the joy is mixed with sorrow, it truly is. They are a part of what is propelling us to our knees at the foot of the cross with humble and thankful hearts and handing over the ashes of our hearts that He’s turning into beauty.

This month is pregnancy and infant loss awareness month. More so, today is pregnancy and infant loss awareness day. These are all days I had no clue about as well as sibling loss awareness day which was earlier this week. I had a dear friend let me in on this day and what “the wave of light” is just a few days ago. She wanted to be sure we weren’t caught off guard or sad to have missed an opportunity to celebrate the life of Huxley. I’m so grateful for her because of course I want to celebrate him and always remember his short but meaningful life.

The wave of light is a day where people light a candle in honor of the babies that were gone too soon, to honor the families who grieve their loss, and to remember the hope that The Light holds for their life everlasting. We would be honored if you would join us in lighting a candle at 7pm in honor of Huxley and all the babies we miss today and everyday. The community we have felt through you all has been so strong and so overwhelming that we wanted to be sure to include you here too. Our grief will never end nor ever be easy but we are grateful for people who love us and think of us often and pray for us and tell us when they’re thinking of Huxley too! We love you all and if you do join in with us please, if you can and feel led to, share a picture of your candles or of you wearing pink and blue (the color ribbons to commemorate our losses) in the comments here or on social media.

from http://www.awarenessdays.com

Global Wave of Light is an annual observance that honors and remembers babies who have died during pregnancy, childbirth, or infancy. This day serves as a global moment of remembrance for families and individuals who have experienced the loss of a child. Participants around the world light candles and create a wave of light that symbolizes love, support, and remembrance for these precious lives. Global Wave of Light is an opportunity to provide comfort, raise awareness about pregnancy and infant loss, and break the silence surrounding this often deeply personal and emotional experience

I have a lot of half thoughts floating around. Things I want to remember and things I want to share but there doesn’t seem to be the right way or the right post to make about it. Here I’m just going to share those random thoughts and feelings.

We’ve entered into month 4 and our doctor said months 4-6 seem to be the hardest on parents. The shock has worn off and you’re left with thoughts of what was supposed to be. It’s also a time when a lot of milestones start happening. Intentional smiles and giggles, rolling, sleepingo more, the exhaustion of the fourth trimester is coming to end so you see the newborn stage for all the glory that it is around this time. I have to say, it has been harder. I have had more consecutive bad days than I think I ever did before. The fourth trimester is real even when you don’t have your baby with you. I am still very much postpartum (look it and feel it) just no baby to prove my hard work for the last year. I want to talk about Huxley all day to anyone who will listen. I bring him up in all conversations. Sometimes not even sure how I did it. I feel guilty because I don’t even know him. But somehow I feel like I know exactly who he was going to be. Parenting a baby in heaven is strange in that I want to talk about Him but don’t want to overdo it. Just like I don’t want to over talk or brag on my kids that are with me now… same struggle but different because over bragging about living kids possibly annoys people and over sharing about a baby who died has the potential to make people uncomfortable. Not everyone may feel this and it is probably more of an internal misperception on my end but I can’t help having those thoughts.

We were watching Up the other day and the little boy, Russel, kind of looked like a big kid baby Huxley to me. Billy and I enjoyed that. It even gave us a little chuckle.
I get a little nervous with how our doctor was so right about this being a hard time because our friend, a bereavement doula and fellow loss mama, says that year two is actually harder than year one. I’m not sure I can handle that. And even so, another friend made from our (and their) loss says year five is incredibly difficult too. I guess that’s just how it goes. So many of you comment how strong I am or how strong these other families are but strong is just not what I feel. God is made strong in my weakness and here I am weak- therefore He makes me strong. Either way it’s not of my own doing. I promise.
Some good news is that those very same people who have mentioned hard days are coming are happy and loving people who seem to have good day to day days and while I hear them saying there is more struggle to come I can also see there is goodness to come and happiness and healing and grace. I read something the other day that mentioned about their own baby and loss as their first birthday approached that as they celebrated their sweet one they had to remember that that baby was never meant to be at this birthday. They were always meant to have that birthday in heaven. Something about that just sinks in differently. I know God didn’t want or make this happen. But the truth is, He allowed it and He knew it would happen. He knew Huxley would not take a breath outside of my womb. His life is meaningful even so. I will make sure if that. I will live and not let life be wasted. His nor mine.

The best way to describe why I think this time is so hard is in the first phase after losing a baby or anyone for that matter, you’re in shock and you’ve got your head down and just trying to take that next step. I started to get good at that so I decided to lift my head and upon lifting it all I see are friends having babies, invites to baby showers, emails to join a celebration or birthday or meal train and all those things are good and I want to be invited and I truly am happy for all of those friends if not a little jealous too, but I’m starting a new phase of grief and life that I’m currently really bad at which is taking those same steps as before but now looking at life and others lives. Not just staring at my feet wishing them to move. So grace walks in. I’m bad at seeing all the new babies. I’m bad at being invited to baby showers. I’m bad at listening to others birth stories without being jealous. BUT I refuse to stay in a place of jealousy and sadness. I want to rejoice with all of those around me rejoicing in things. But I am bad at it right now and I hope you have as much grace as I need for this. Will it I be bad for a while, yes. Will it come back even after I get through this phase, probably. But I won’t let it be a state that I live my life in. I hope you don’t either. Whatever trauma or sadness you’re living through right now, I hope you make the choice to not stay there forever. No one can tell you how long to be there and no one should. We all take different amounts of time through phases of life so I’m not saying you or I need to speed things up, I’m currently letting my kids have a screen filled day with the easiest of foods because I’m still in the thick of it some days and we’ve had more of these days than I care to admit, but my point is just make the decision to not stay there FOREVER. Make the choice now that you will get up in time when you’re ready. Make the declaration now that you’re not down forever even though it feels that way. I’m here with you and saying the same things even on the days that I’m cursing and crying because my decision stands that I won’t stay here forever. (At least this is the part I will read to myself on hard days)

It’s Monday, signifying that another week has started. Another week to pass by. I think we’re doing okay, I think. It’s strange to think I would have a 4 month old right now. My doctor told me the 4-6 month phase would be one of the hardest and so far she’s not wrong. This month has been full of more consistently bad days and they tend to be more extreme than before. Before my days were all kind of in the middle. Not good. Not bad. But okay… I was alive and living life putting one foot in front of the other. But now, but now the intrusive thoughts are hard to combat, the freeze mode is hard to get past- where I want to do something or anything and can’t move or can’t get myself to do it even if it’s just brushing my teeth. I’m not depressed. I’m just frozen. They do sounds similar though as I write this. Then a friend who has also lost a child said year two is harder than year one. Then another friend I’ve made through child loss says year 5 is coming up for her and showing to be a really hard year. I think I can see why each one of those time frames is hard. For instance the 4-6 month is looking hard because we’re past shock and starting to get back into a rhythm of life and that feels icky. We’re missing someone. A major part of our equation of this “normal” is missing. We are out of the physical healing and danger zone and some primary thoughts have been hashed out but they bring in new more complex ones now. These ones are harder to answer or justify and see Gods plan. We feel guilty and sad and a little happy too just because life has a way of still being funny and we do have two other kids that are quite hilarious. Them being funny doesn’t take away our sad and hurt but it allows for life to still have some giggles. And our sad and hurt don’t take away from life still being good, from God being good. But this 4-6 month mark also reminds us of all the milestones that come at this time. Smiles and giggles and rolling and sleeping well. Our eyes are also a bit lifted now. Our heads have been down for so long just looking at our own feet and now they’re up and seeing how everyone else’s life is still going. We’ve been under the water drowning and now our heads are kind of bobbing on top. Our eyes are lifted and we’re starting to see the world again and that’s hard. It’s hard to walk out of our little comfort zone and looking into our own struggles and starting to see others again. See their struggles, their accomplishments, their lives, and kids and the things they are laughing about and complaining about, all the things. It’s hard and I think that’s why this 4-6 month phase has been difficult. I guess the good part of all that is we’re not necessarily drowning anymore. We get pushed down by waves every so often and storms will come but we do get to come up for air.

It probably doesn’t help that in my life and those surrounding me it’s baby season. A few friends were pregnant and due a little before us and that was sad after we lost huxley to see their babies as Huxley would have been but it was okay but now a number of friends are about to have babies or finding out they’re pregnant. I’ve already had to skip two baby showers because I just can’t make myself go. Not because I’m not okay…I am, but because on that day in that moment I may not be okay. I don’t want to cry while we’re trying to celebrate a precious baby and mama. Another major reason is because (now whether or not this is true I don’t know but it feels true) I feel like people would just be watching and waiting to see how I do. It’s kind of how all of life feels right now. While it seems a little maybe egotistical (not sure this is the word I’m going for but it’s all I’ve got at the moment) I promise it’s not. People actually do stare and sometimes ask questions when I’m in places where many people know what happened. Questions are always welcome. Even the stares are welcome because I know it comes from a place of caring but the fact of the matter is it does happen. People admit to doing it, we see it for ourselves and I just didn’t want to take that too a celebratory event. Another truth is as days pass I feel like I’m getting worse and I can feel the sadness, jealousy, and why’s all coming back. I know it’s a phase but gosh it really sucks. That’s all for now. Thanks for stopping by.

There have been at least three conversations I’ve had in the last week that are prompting me to finally post this draft of thoughts that have been sitting for weeks waiting for me to have the words to complete these thoughts. I may have found some of those words this week through talking to Billy and reading some of the many books we now have on grief and child loss.

I’ve shared a lot about this process and I keep getting messages that say “you’re so brave “ or “vulnerable for sharing” or “strong”, “faithful” and many other words to fill in those lines. First let me preface this with I LOVE seeing messages from you all. It warms my heart and makes me feel not alone and very seen and loved. It helps me see the good and beauty that is all of you in a world that feels so bad and ugly right now but I feel like I’m anything but those words described there. I don’t feel brave or strong or faithful or graceful. None of it. Truth is, I am not strong enough. I’m not brave enough (even if that one is true, I wish I didn’t have to be) If there’s one thing that I am it is that I am completely broken. The saying that goes God won’t give you more than you can handle… it’s not biblical nor is it true. I’m not just bent or bowing under some heavy pressure… I’m broken. I am only strong because His power is made perfect in my weakness. He is the strength that is getting me through. I am weak though.

Writing has been helping me see God’s grace and mercies for me and I’m able to write it out with a nice ending after the bad has passed and the truth has returned and it definitely shows the faith I have but I also want to show where those struggles are too. Now, I HAVE to believe there is hope. I have to. It’s what gets me through day to day but there are many times when faithful is not the word I would use to describe my thoughts or day to day .

I wrestle and pound my fists at God asking why often. Ultimately, I come back to His word and His love but I go right back to struggling too. Faith is a consistent every moment decision and a lot of moments I have it but a lot of moments I’m hanging on by a thread. My faith is only the size of a mustard seed but let me show you what He’s done with it.

I really want to be transparent for anyone who has gone through anything of this sort. We are all grieving in our own ways and we can’t compare our grief because it’s simply not comparable. We can’t compare our faith because it’s also not comparable. I want you to see that I have faith but not every moment starts from this seemingly unattainable faith that I have stored away. It’s been work and I struggle in this area regularly and if you do too… I see you and I understand. It’s hard. But God is there. He also sees you and He loves you and this faith is for you too whether you’re ready right now or not. He can work in you too.

Church is still the easiest and the hardest place for me to go every single week. Every week I get excited to get dressed and go to church to praise God with my family and community. And every Sunday I cry before the sermon even begins. There’s only been one Sunday where neither me or Billy cried and it’s been weeks since that one week passed. I still zone out during sermons and Bible study. Or even just chatting with friends. I sometimes decide not to go to Bible study and instead drop off the kids and head to Starbucks for a minute alone.

This past Sunday, I was fuming at one of the songs. It’s a song I generally love to hear and sing along to but the words just made me soo mad this time. “It’s your breath in our lungs so we pour out our praise”, those were the words and I was mad at God. “Why didn’t Huxley have Your breath in his lungs” I kept mumbling to myself. “He didn’t have breath soo I can’t pour out my praise for you” I wrestled in my head standing in the very front of the Church. I was using God as a punching bag and if I could paint the moment in a picture it would be me hitting him in the chest until I exhausted myself and when I fell to the ground He would just calmly hold me there. In that place, right where I was, He took the beating and still saw me through. I don’t know why He didn’t give Huxley breath in his lungs but I know Jesus is sad with me. I know there isn’t a tear I’ve cried that He hasn’t counted. I know He is for me and not against me (and Huxley and you). I know this wasn’t His will. I know He will make all things right. I have to hold on to that hope. He took the ultimate beating to save me (and you) and He’ll take whatever beating I throw His way too and then we’ll sit and then stand and eventually one day walk forward. Right now I feel tainted. I feel bruised and exhausted. But I feel hopeful. Maybe that’s the word that describes me more than strong, faithful, or brave, I’m hopeful.

In the last segment I shared a quick summary of what the week at the hospital held but didn’t go through much of it. The more I write the more I realize I have so much more to process- here it is.

Like I said before I woke up briefly to my husband sobbing like I’ve never seen before and just as if my heart hadn’t already been ripped from my chest, crushed into a million pieces, and thrust back in, as if it even worked, this broke it all over again. I quickly fell back asleep not able to handle what was coming and part me thinks I had some control of that moment and part of me thinks I didn’t. I wanted to be there for Billy in the moment and to hug him and comfort him but I couldn’t move or walk, I couldn’t talk or form a thought even. I was on a lot of medication and still mostly numb from the c section. So I feel terrible for falling back into my slumber but I had less of a choice and my body was taking over. In that moment that he was crying I thought he was holding Huxley. I learned later that he was not holding him. Billy wanted to wait for me to be okay before he or I held him. He was actually trying to find something for him to wear in our bag. We brought a few sizes of things but he was over 12 and half pounds… he needed some big clothes and we only had one thing that was even an option. Our doctor went to Billy hugged him and offered to dress Huxley. She did so (as I’m told) with great care, tears covering her own face, and in no rush even in the early hours of the morning after a very long shift. DidI mention our doctor is amazing. If you haven’t gathered that from the last few stories let me say it here, she’s one of the best, doctor and people.

Later when I woke and got to talk to Billy I learned just how big Huxley was and how perfect. They said he was the healthiest looking baby, with a long, thick and cushy cord, beautiful placenta. Everything looked perfect so why was he gone? No one had those answers. We’d hoped we’d see something to help us understand after he was born but everything pointed to a healthy baby. He was big but didn’t look like a baby born to a mom with gestational diabetes, he just was big. I didn’t have gestational diabetes and he didn’t look it either but they went ahead and retested me afterwards just to see if maybe we missed it and hoping to find some answers but everything came back normal. Again, no answers. Billy and I talked and decided we didn’t really want answers. Answers would only give us somewhere to place blame and we didn’t want to do that. We didn’t want something to be mad at for the rest of our lives. We did have my placenta sent to be checked for anything that we should look for in the future, it also came back normal giving us nothing. So we gave up and stuck to our decision. We didn’t need or want to know, it wouldn’t change the outcome anyhow. I said in the last post that Billy didn’t leave empty handed- in that statement I meant that I’d be leaving with him. But we as a family would leave empty handed and hearts broken no matter what answers came to us so we dropped it and focused on each other.

The next few hours are hard to recall. I only remember bits and pieces. Billy leaving to go see our other children and let them know I was okay. Me holding Huxley for the first time. Trying to change clothes while half my body was numb so I could take photos with Huxley 24 hours after giving birth. When Billy was getting ready to leave I remember him asking if I’d be okay and I said only if the nurse stays here with me. Fortunately she heard me and reassured me she’d be in there monitoring me for at least 2 more hours and would be happy to stay with me even if she wasn’t required to be there. So he left. That’s when I asked to hold Huxley. Why I wanted to do this alone is beyond my comprehension. Maybe I knew I’d break and I just wanted to break alone? Or not make Billy watch me break when I knew it would hurt him to see me hurt even though he’d watched everything up until then and would do more than this in the upcoming weeks. Maybe it was my way to protect Billy just for one little fracture of time. I just, I guess I just wanted to save him one moment of not having to watch me fall apart because I knew he’d be there for me holding me up later. Anyways the nurse asked if I was sure, I said yes and asked why she thought I was unsure. She said it was just kind of soon post surgery and wanted to be sure I was feeling strong enough to hold him. I’m still not sure if she meant physically or emotionally but the answer is no, I wasn’t. I wasn’t strong enough. She handed him to me, all 12.9 pounds of him and he was perfect. Heavy and perfect. He had Mollys nose, Billy’s feet, my eye shape, Samuel’s cheeks. I could see all of us in him. The nurse offered to take my picture and she did, I’m grateful for those. I cried and kissed him as much as I possibly could for as long as I had the strength to hold him.

We finally got our pictures back of Huxley. I’m waiting to look at them with Billy when he gets home from work. I’m nervous. I want to see them. I’ve been waiting for like 11 weeks to see them. And I know I’ll just love the photos of him. I’m nervous for the ones with the rest of us in them. It was the day I delivered him. I know that I physically am going to look just awful but It’s not that that makes me nervous. Im not sure I can handle looking at the pain on each of our faces. We were miserable. Of course we were. I just don’t know if I can be strong enough for that yet. Then I’m not sure what all she captured of my older two kids. I know Samuel was sad and scared and molly was happy and confused. I just think it’s going to be one of those things we file under hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It just seems like looking at pictures shouldn’t be like that. It shouldn’t be something that is hard yet here I am unable to decide how I even feel about it. What emotions are these? Am I happy, sad, excited, nervous. Kind of all of them. Im happy to finally have them. And excited to have amazing photos of Huxley. Nervous at what I’ll see. Sad that’s it’s documentation of the worst day of my life. Angry that it happened. Grateful that these are gift for us to treasure. How. How are this many emotions even possible? 

Update: We looked at them. We cried and laughed. He’s so big and perfect. How in the world did he grow so well!? I’ll never know. They made his skin look just the way God made it to look. (He was losing his skin at birth so we never got to see his face or body fully but they made it happen) I love pictures I thought I wouldn’t. The hardest picture to look at is one of all 5 of us. Its also my favorite. It’s strange to see all 3 of my babies together. Samuel looks like the oldest sibling, not just the older sibling and Molly looks like a middle kid. Not a baby. It’s so surreal to see them all together and it was the hardest to bring into my heart. It feels all the more real seeing them together. I still have days where it feels like we’re just awaiting his arrival. Or days when I think I’m still pregnant. I have to remind myself I’m not, that Huxley already came and left. It’s hard to see that picture and know that I’ll never have an updated version of it. I love it, it’s just hard. One day we will all be together again though. I’ll yearn for those days while I wait. We will live good lives and love on our earth side babies until then.