Peanut Butter Jelly Time

If you were expecting something in a banana suit singing "Peanut Butter Jelly Time," I apologize.

This is a post about healing -- about a quirky hint even.

My husband and I wanted desperately to find a holiday tradition that would honor and remind us of Jasper and Bodhi. If it could include "Garby," all the better.

So I came up with this idea of getting an ornament each year that represents them to me. Angels aren't my thing. Birds would work, but it didn't feel quite right. I wanted something that reminded me of childhood, as well as each child individually. Something Garby would get excited about putting on our tree. Something he could understand without needing to grasp some overly deep symbolism.

Nobody will really 'get it' until Garby is born. But this is the ornament I just ordered (no tree to hang it on this year, but wanted it ordered by what would have been the twins' first Christmas). The goal is to find a similar one each year. :)

This Your First?

That is the question that has haunted me this entire pregnancy. From the ER to Urgent Care to well-meaning strangers. And now hospital tours.

As soon as I hear those words, my insides collapse.

"Is this your first?"

No matter how I answer, the conversation scrapes away at those wounds. On the rare occasion I've said "Yes," to avoid the awkward conversation, hoping the other party will just drop it, it turns into a weird blend of condescending cheer. "Oh, just wait. You'll see."

And then there are the times when I say, "No." Then I'm left wondering if they'll ask follow-up questions, or if I'm bound to explain my heartbreak all over again.

It hit me really hard last night.

My husband and I went to take a tour of the maternity/birthing area at the hospital. It was looking like we'd be the only people on the tour, but about 30 seconds before it started, another pregnant woman and her husband walked in.

As soon as we approached the tour guide, an older woman who seemingly had more trouble walking than either of us preggos, she immediately asked, "So, is this your first?"

I swallowed abruptly and simply said, "No."

She glanced back at me inquisitively. I knew she was used to mothers going on and on about their previous children. So, my grief and avoidance made me seem anti-social and/or rude.

She turned to the other woman, "No. This is our third, so we're excited."

We all head up in the elevator, and the tour goes as expected. Short and to the point. But as we go to leave, our tour guide starts picking away again -- even though I knew it was her version of casual conversation.

"So, where did you deliver your other children?"

The other woman answered first, "Well, one was in China. The other in Australia."

I took my cue and tried to make it seem funny, "Oh, ours were just in Indianapolis."

Was she going to drop it there? Of course not.

"Indianapolis? What hospital?"

Eh..

And just as we're about to leave, she turns to us again, "So how long were your labors last time?"

I feel like I can't catch my breath -- my pause allowing the other woman to answer first. I couldn't even muster a real answer and basically repeated what she had said.. then walked away.

I know I should be elated to be pregnant, and I am. But the very state of being pregnant causes a barrage of questions that hurt immeasurably. And it all feels like it's coming to a head as we approach the holidays. I can't tell you how many times the grief has flooded in so fast I felt like I was drowning.

My nephew's birthday party. Shopping for their Christmas gifts. Hanging up our stockings, but leaving Jasper's and Bodhi's in the box. The pain is so thick as I ponder what should have been their first Christmas.. just a handful of weeks away from their tragic birthday.

It's becoming increasingly hard not to lose myself in all those thoughts and things I had hoped for.

The only saving grace to last night was being able to cuddle with my husband, as he wrapped his arm around me and felt for our son's kicks, talking about the twins as we fell asleep.

The Easiest Choice

When you're about to get married, everyone tells you, "Marriage is hard work."

Four years ago, today, I was staying in a hotel room all by myself, with eager butterflies in my stomach.. wondering how our big day would go, how he was feeling, and desperately missing him.

These years have flown by, and I have to say "hard work" has not been my experience. We've been through some of the most difficult things a couple can go through -- that parents can go through. Life has been so hard in recent months. The kind of "hard" that steals your breath, keeps you awake at night, and changes you at your core. But the marriage was never hard, or even 'work.' Being married to this man is probably the easiest thing I've ever done.

Every day, the choice to love my husband is the easiest decision I make. So simple that it feels like a reflex.

Have we argued? Sure. About the best way to paint a room or what to have for dinner. Our "fights" last less than 10 minutes. And I can't recall a single time that I've left the house or gone to bed angry. And for us, that hasn't been difficult to accomplish. It's just who we are together.

What it comes down to is this. When you have a husband like mine.. who supports you, never doubts you, and will practically do anything to make you smile.. it's not hard to love him. It's nearly impossible not to.

To my husband,

This has undoubtedly been the most trying year of our lives. You have seen me at my absolute lowest -- too weak to move, and moments when I can barely breathe. You were the only thing that got me through those times. You never tried to stay on the fray of it -- supportive from the outside. You walked into the despair with me, and carried me out. Over and over again.

I will never be able to express how profoundly I felt the depth of your love during this journey.

On our wedding day, I told you, "I choose you. Every second.. of every day." And now that you've held our twins, and lovingly spoken to my 'baby bump' -- to our unborn son, it has never been so easy to choose you.

And just as I ended my vows, I say this again to you, "I'm not standing here to tell you how much I love you today.. I'm here to tell you how much I'll love you tomorrow... and to promise you all of my tomorrows."

It doesn't feel like four years have passed since our wedding day, but at the same time, it feels like I've known you -- like I've loved you -- forever. <3