There are times
when the house is clean
when the night is quiet
when Bella has been tucked into bed, prayers said, hugs and kisses
when I wander out into the house, alone
and look around.
And I see things organized.
Clean and tidy, ready for the next day.
And I lean my head against the doorframe of my kitchen
and I cry.
I cry for the life that I couldn’t imagine myself having and never got anyway.
I cry for the wails I don’t hear.
The swings that aren’t going.
The bottles that don’t exist.
The mess that isn’t there.
The traces of twins I’ll never know.
And this pregnancy makes it easier to bear and harder to come to terms with.
I can only pray during those moments that God knows my pain, that He won’t take this little one from me. That He’ll allow me to have the mess, the crying, the diapers, the late nights, the moments that I know I’ll wonder what on earth I was thinking or if I’ll ever sleep again. That under it all I know I’ll feel so, so grateful that this baby is here. Just like I feel about Bella.
And still always long for the two that aren’t.
What a strange, emotional place to be.
I cry for the two I didn’t get to mother as I carry inside the one I pray I can, while watching over the child I was blessed with.