Another

Last night I got the first sign that my cycles might be going back to normal, and it was a relief as I started to imagine the possibility of getting pregnant again. My sentiment about it has changed. I used to be excited about the miracle of growing a baby inside me--feeling the kicks, watching my belly expand, even the mourning sickness. I can honestly say that in some sense, I am not looking forward to being pregnant again. I am not looking forward to going through the first trimester again. I am not looking forward to the worry of wondering whether my baby's heart is still beating. I am not looking forward to telling myself not to feel guilty that someone new is occupying Liam's only earthly home. But I am looking forward to having another baby.

I keep thinking that. "We're gonna have another baby." Maybe not quite yet. But I feel confident that someday, somehow...

I want to be sure I'm clear about what "another" means to me. "Another" does not mean a different baby. It means a second baby. Two babies. That's all I've been able to think about all day. Two babies. How could I be so blessed to be preparing for a life in which I have two babies, when less than a year ago I was wondering whether I would ever have one?

Of course, it's still not exactly what I wanted. I miss Liam. But today I'm just grateful he exists. Grateful that I have one baby. Have... had... will have... There's something weird about tenses now.

Ever since losing Liam, I've started to believe time is somehow different from how we feel it. I don't know what that means exactly. But some days I focus on how I had Liam, and some days I focus on how I will have Liam again. But today I'm focusing on how I have Liam right now. And maybe it's that confusion of tenses that has the back-of-my-mind voice whispering "I have two babies," all day today. Because I obviously don't have two babies. At least not in my arms, or even in my belly. But I feel like somehow, I do.

...

Of course there are still things I worry about. I'm not overly excited about re-entering the world where disappointment is met with a tissue and a tampon. And on top of the agonizing two week wait I know too well, I will have to learn to breathe through counting down the days of a nine month pregnancy. But mostly I worry about being a good mother.

Every mother wonders that. I still struggle to remember that I am a mother and my motherhood counts. But if motherhood is defined by how often you ask yourself "if you're a good mother," I count like the vampire on Sesame Street.

Around 2 am last night I found myself praying that if we do get pregnant again, I will be a good mother to both of my children. And if I am blessed with a living child, that I will have the strength and talents I need to mother both a baby on earth and a baby in heaven. I don't want either of my babies to feel like I love one less than the other. It's inevitable that they will not be getting attention in the same ways. I was already worried about my adequacy when I was pregnant with Liam. But this is a situation I had never even considered preparing myself for.

My sweetest and strongest answers to prayers have often come as thoughts I wouldn't normally have on my own. This was the case last night. For someone with as many doubts as I have, the voice of confidence and reassurance that came to my mind last night certainly wasn't mine. That thought blessed me with the feeling of being in the right place at the right time. Which is a welcome change.

So, I feel pretty good today. If you can't tell from the Sesame Street joke. (Goodness, I hope that you got that, or I will be really embarrassed.)

Of course I still miss Liam. But I miss him with hope. I have a firm hope of being with him again and seeing him smile and run and grow. But I'm still learning to hope. Today I'm learning to hope for a sibling for Liam. For two babies.