Currently, Madeline is asleep in her own room. In her own bed.
I realize that she is three, and that for most this seems like this should be an obvious statement of facts. However, this is the first time this has ever happened. I have mentioned before that we co-sleep with Madeline.
Now that she is three, I know that she really should start sleeping in her own bed. At least occasionally. That said, I’m still not sure I’m ready for that. My anxiety is high. I’m finding myself staring at the monitor even as I’m typing this. I’m watching. I’m resisting the urge to run in and either crawl into bed next her, or just pick her up and bring her back out her with me to cuddle up where I can hold her and constantly reassure myself that she is breathing.
I know that she is fine.
My rationale mind knows this.
It’s just there is this crazy, anxiety-ridden part of my brain that keeps telling me that I need to check that she’s still breathing every 30 seconds.
And I wonder why I’ve been exhausted for the last 4 years. I basically haven’t slept since I was pregnant the first time around.
She is fine. I keep staring at the monitor and telling myself this. The volume is turned all the way up. I’m just staring now. I can see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. This reassures me.
She looks so tiny in her big girl bed.
I know I will still go and get her before the night is over. She won’t stay in there all night.
I’m not ready for that.
Not just yet.
I was honored to be asked by Lindsey to share Madeline’s birth story over on her new site Pregnancy After Loss Support.
The familiar wave of nausea had hit me hard. I crawled back in bed only to find myself huddled in the bathroom once again five minutes later. I had one test left from this time last year. I knew it was early, and most likely would be negative, but I just had to test to see if there was a happy reason for this sudden nausea. Five minutes later I was back in our bedroom showing my husband, Patrick, what I thought was a very faint line. He wasn’t convinced. The line was “barely there” and we had “just started trying” again. Later that afternoon we ran out to Target to buy another box of tests. I impatiently waited until the next morning to take a test. Almost instantly, there it was, there was no second guessing it this time, I practically ran into our bedroom and to Patrick’s side of the bed. Shoving the clearly positive test stick in front of his face, “now do you believe it?” I asked him. We both looked at it and cried as he hugged me close. Here we go again…
Click on over to Pregnancy After Loss Support to read the rest of Maddy’s story.
Somedays are so blissfully happy that to anyone looking in you wouldn’t see that there was anything (anyone) missing.
Somedays I wake up in the middle of the night completely panicked that something is wrong.
Somedays the anxiety and fear is so much that I can barely breathe.
Somedays I can hold it all together.
Then somedays, like yesterday, I see someone who I haven’t seen in over a year, and they ask me Josh is doing…not knowing that we never were able to bring him home with us. I was 7 months pregnant with our first baby the last time he had been in the office. He had no way of knowing what had happened to Josh. He had no way of knowing that his sweet gesture of remembering my son’s name would cause the tears to form in my eyes.
Those days, like yesterday, are a punch in the gut. They knock the breath right out of me and bring me to a mess of tears.
Somedays are better than others.