Lying by Omission...

"I'll pass on the wine tonight, Mom.  This cold medicine is strong enough."

"Sorry, kids.  I'm really fighting this stomach bug."

"You know, I'd love to go out with you tonight, my friend, but I have to get up early in the morning.  Next time, okay?"

Goofy cat likes my husband
more than me...
even though the husband
piles laundry on top
of him!

"Yeah, I know Appletinis are my favorite and you bought them just for me, but... um... I have to drive?"

"Oh, thanks for the bottle of wine... now I'll conveniently forget about it."

I'm 7 weeks and 4 days pregnant right now and I can't talk to anyone about it.  Not even my husband.  He is either scared because we lost Andrew or scared because he has no idea how we're going to handle another child or just scared in general.  Even if this wasn't a "pregnancy after recent loss", it would still be too early to talk to anyone.  But the thing is... sometimes I want to.  I want someone to be excited with and someone to share this with.  But for now, it's just me and the cat.  And the cat likes my husband more, anyway...

Putting on My Brave Face

I wrote this in July of 2011:

22. 24. 28. What do these numbers have in common? A bunch of things, really. They're all even. They're all twenty-something. And each is the age I was when I had a child. Two girls and a wiry little boy to keep me on my toes. I spent my 20s surrounded by child rearing manuals, play dates, and preschool applications. As time went on, "Good Night Moon" was traded for college text books and play dates were replaced with study groups. I've nearly finished my degree. Several months before my son started first grade, I started a part time job that allows my husband and I to pay for the kids to go to Catholic School. I had a path and a plan. Soccer, scouts (both Girl and Cub), church, school, and a job I truly love and am grateful for about 90% of the time. Mixed into all of this child-centered chaos, I've been married to the same remarkable man since I was 21.

And then a few weeks ago I came home from my wonderful job, ran through the front door, and barely made it to the powder room where I promptly tossed my cookies. My husband joked he knew what was wrong and winked. I told him it was food poisoning. In the back of my mind, I was thinking he was evil for getting my hopes up. At 36 and having heard the phrase, "We could be looking at cancer" during a recent hospital visit that involved much poking at my ovaries, I had given up on the possibility.

Only he was right. It took three home test kits and a blood test to convince me, but I'm... pregnant!

And Holy Mary Mother of God, am I scared.

On September 5, 2011, Andrew Charles was born 20 weeks premature. He had been strangled by his umbilical cord several days before. I was right to be scared in July. Now 2012 is staring me in the face and that same fear is staring back at me.

Between now and August, I have to figure this out. How do I tell my kids that we're trying this again? How do tell my mother? She lost two unborn grandchildren this year. How do I tell my sister? She's still reeling from the loss of her son earlier this year. How do I feel excited about a new baby when the lost of Andrew is still something I think about nonstop?

The ornament we hung on our tree this year in honor of Andrew. It says "You will always be in my heart" on the back.