I have a second son. His name is Oliver. He's the bookend baby boy to my beautiful collection of children, and I've been praying for and about him since 2008.
And I'm still waiting to meet him.
My first son Jasper made parenting too easy on me. Sometimes I think it would've been better to have one of my girls first. They've been far more challenging, and after the initial 5 years of parenting the world's easiest kid and thinking I was an awesome Mama, it's been very humbling to be knocked down by them time and time again. Girls have always been harder for me. It was astounding to see from the get-go how different they are from boys, (or at least from my boy), and how from day one the level of emotions is night and day different. Don't get me wrong...I adore my girls and I love the way we're bonding, and I love the relationships we're growing.
But it's different with boys. I've always wanted another one. Possibly because my relationship with my son has been so special to me over the past 15 years. That desire was only made stronger when I married Greg, especially because after Greg, there are no other males to carry on his family's last name. And his is a family that deserves to be carried into future generations.
We've talked about Oliver often enough that the kids actually ask about him. When he's coming, when we're making him, IF we're gonna go make him when Greg and I tell the kids we need some alone time. Ha. It's weird, honestly, but also sweet. I wonder often what he'll be like. Quiet and sensitive like his older brother? Or will he be the proverbial hellion who brings bugs home in his pockets and shoves food in our electronics? Will he give me constant heart attacks (like his sis Quinleigh) with his daredevilish ways? Will he want to work on cars with Daddy? Play drums with brother? Be artsy like sis Teiley?
Every month, when it's clear again that I'm not pregnant, I cry.
I've always gotten pregnant pretty easily. I mean, I only have 3 kids, but they all happened during the "one time" protection wasn't used. They were all happy accidents. So the fact that we've not been preventing Oliver's conception for almost 2 years now and still have no baby is starting to feel pretty dismal to me. Two years is a long time to try and wait. That's 24 times of being heartbroken and disappointed.
I'll be 40 in less than a year. This makes it seem even more impossible, I know women have babies in their 40's. I also know this just sounds scary as heck to me. Babies are hard and exhausting and I'm almost finally getting decent sleep at night now. So the thought of starting all over is overwhelming.
Plus, the whole traumatic experience we had with our 3 year old at her birth* is still fresh in our mind, when the topic of a new baby comes up. (And then the topic of HOW to birth that baby is a whole new topic. All my babes have been born at home because it's where I'm most comfortable. Q rocked my world sideways when she forced us into our longest hospital stay ever. So there's always the question: home birth? hospital birth? Gah.)
So...this is just me rambling. Sharing my pain on a topic I don't tell many people about. I know it's not the saddest story, and perhaps I should just "be grateful" for the amazing kids I do have. I am grateful. But that doesn't stop the ache I feel when I see Mama's walking around with their sweet pregnant bellies. It doesn't stop my body from literally feeling like my milk is dropping sometimes. (And that is super weird, lemmee tell ya.) It doesn't take away the feeling in my gut that someone is still missing. That I'm not done yet. I just can't shake it.
Anyway. Mama's waiting for you, Oliver.
Xoxo.
*the short version of this is Quinleigh died in our bedroom when she was about 16 hours old. You can read her story as it happened on her Facebook page, Prayers for Quinleigh.
