My fever is high

Here we are just cruising through life living with a 4 and 2.5 year old when life seems fulfilled. When I don't even see the phantom baby in our family pictures. When I have wiped my house clean of anything the resembles that a baby was once a thing in our house. No high chairs, no cribs, no pacis. Just two little, okay one, self sufficent kid and one who is on the brink of getting the potty training thing down. Then? Then we have actual kids and not babies. And that? That seems like we should have a party. 

However, my uterus thinks otherwise. It hit out nowhere really. Ok, to be honest it hit at TLC when a fresh baby boy was sitting in my arms reminding of how tiny they are. It hit again next to the onions in the grocery store when I held a month old baby girl. The simple reminder of how quickly they grow into toddlers and then kids and then teenagers. Yikes. I held that baby quickly realizing that we had decided to shut the baby factory down. To throw up the closed sign and never look back. It didn't take much, living with the other female in this house. Her name is Claire, but on those rare occasions we see Blaire. And Blaire ain't pretty. If you're fortunate enough to spend time with Blaire you pretty much understand our decision to let her be the baby in the family and to not pursue one more pregnancy. 

It's hard deciding when to be done having babies. When to forever turn off the oven and never look back. How do you moms decide? Do you still see the phantom baby that plagued me forever? Do you just have a set number that you've agreed on and that's it? No more, no less. Do you leave it up to fate? 

I can't even handle the videos of Wyatt and Claire as babies. Their little selves crawling and pulling up. Rocking them to sleep. Feeding them and burping them. Swaddling them. I've got baby fever and it's high. I need a baby. I think. I know a sweet baby girl coming in September and I cannot wait to hold her and tell her mom to go take a nap while I just marvel is the sweet deliciousness that is a newborn baby. 

Someone send help. Ryan's going to want to kick me out of the house if I start the baby chatter up or I keep crying telling him to watch just one more video of the kids when they were younger. 

But for real, y'all...

When all is quiet

It's in those quiet moments, late in the night that get to me most. When the kids are tucked in and he's sound asleep next to one of them that I go tap him on the shoulder and ask if he wants to come to bed. It's the times when all I want to know is if he's safe. If he's okay. If he feels fine. It's when he's gone away for a night or two on a business trip and I end up at my parent's house because I have a need. A need I've semi-masked behind just enjoying an extra sets a hands to help with baths. It's both a need and a fear. A need of having him with me and a fear of being without him. 

I love him more than I realize. Even through the days that I can't stand him, I always want him near me. To know that he's okay. And I'm not that type of person. Not needy. (Ryan's reading this and calling BS). This wasn't an issue before he got sick. In fact, he was spending weeks away from home for work prior to the hospital stay and it was nothing. Harder for me? Yes. I was a single mom during the week and only occasionally did I end up at my parents. Mostly when I had reached the end of my rope with the kids and I needed the break. It worked for us and I knew it was temporary. 

Since then, I hate being by myself at night when Ryan's away. I become short tempered, stressed, and agitated quickly because wondering how he is doing sits in the back of my head constantly. I have no desire to fall asleep. I busy myself with reading, laundry, or Netflix. Actually, this is what I'm doing currently. Trying to be "okay" since I decided to wear my big girl panties and stay at home. With the kids. Without Ryan. And this is what's happened...I've ended up blogging about it. 

I still cry at a moments notice. I still hurt when I think of him and that he's still here. When people ask me, even as we inch toward the one year mark, how he's doing I think I still get awkward in saying he's doing great. It's because I don't want to get all blubbery. It happens and all it results in is my eyes burning from mascara and people probably wishing they hadn't mentioned it. 

Like I said, the one year mark is so close. Even talking to my mom today about it seems impossible. It still seems like a lifetime ago, but like yesterday. He still has a hard time believing it happened and I still occasionally have a hard time remembering that he is fine. And here. With me. Except when he isn't.

I'm trying to have a good relationship with July. Mentally, I have to get there. Right now? Right now I see it as a gloomy cloud hovering between June and August. It will come each year and each year I have to make the choice to be happy. To be thankful. To remember all the good that came out of July. To forget the ugly. To forget that summer night when things went from a dream to a nightmare. To rememeber the good. To remember God's love he so graciously covered us with. To remember that Bunney is here to make me laugh, make me smile, and make me want to punch him in the face at least twice a day. 

 

Here's to staying strong and confident when those babies and Ryan need me most.