It’s official y’all.
We’re headed out to North Carolina (Ft Bragg) in September.
Most of you are probably thinking, “Didn’t she tell us this?” But these past 2 months have held some things that put a wrench in the initial plans. The Army wanted Sam to be there by July 10th. Meaning a June move. Meaning I’d be like 30 weeks pregnant, high risk, 4-5 days in a car, and sometimes hours away from medical care on the road.
Fail.
Last year during this week, I was in the hospital praying that my twins could make it to 24 weeks. My water had broken, I was told there was a very small chance of them surviving, and we weren’t sure what would happen.
This year Sam, Bella, and I will be walking in the March of Dimes in memory of Preston, Julian, and all the other babies that didn’t get to come home, or did but only after long NICU stays, or babies born with complications because of prematurity.
They died May 3rd. The walk is May 4th. I will be exactly 24 weeks with our third son on May 4th.
Talk about chills when I realized all this.
I know 24 weeks is considered viability, but I also know how very small that chance is. And this past year I’ve met many families who got to that point and still didn’t get to take a baby home.
I’ve set up a page for fundraising with March of Dimes to donate all money given directly to them and their mission. I would love for you to consider donating to them in my son’s names. I’ve set a fairly lofty goal ($1,000 in 6 days) but yesterday we raised $335! That is amazing.
The money isn’t for me, we don’t get anything from this, and it’s tax deductible next year. Anything (I mean it) that you give is such a blessing. They take PayPal, credit cards, etc. Thank you so much to those of you who already have. It made yesterday a lot more special to Sam and I as we reflect on 12 months ago.
It’s 5:30 am. And for nearly the past year, Monday through Friday, I wake up as Sam gets ready for work. It’s a rare morning I’m able to get back to sleep, so while he showers I flip on my iPhone, read the news, check Twitter and Facebook, and scroll through my beloved Instagram.
It’s all to keep my mind busy. Letting it wander in the dark leads to anxiety and memories I don’t want to process yet again.
But lately – lately.
When I was little, I remember hearing over and over in Sunday School that one day we’d go to heaven and praise Jesus forever and ever.
And I thought to myself, “NOPE.”
I honestly did not want to do that. Wasn’t heaven supposed to be amazing? Why would I want to die and then just stand around singing hymns all day? We did that for 15 minutes in the service before they dismissed the kids to Sunday School, and it was horrible. I couldn’t see over anyone’s head, the songs were old, it was loud.
For a very long time I’d secretly thought perhaps hell might be better. Sure, eternal burning and all but at least you’d probably get to jump around and do something exciting once in a while.
It was like picking the lesser of the two evils. Burn in hell or don a robe and sing old hymns for a bazillion years?
This past month for She Reads Truth we studied and wrote up daily devotionals with the book of Hosea. I’ll admit – at first I was like, “Who? I’ve barely heard of him, he can’t have been that exciting. WOMP WOMP.”
Today?
I went to the spa.
It was amazing.
Still in El Paso. Just the nice parts.
I could end it right there and that would about sum things up nicely, but since I don’t go to the spa on a monthly (or bi-annually) basis, it is blog post worthy material.
I booked a half day but it almost was a full at 9-2. I went with my girlfriend Tanya, and first up was a prenatal massage for me. I could have melted into the bed. The masseuse kept saying, “And you do a lot of work on the computer don’t you? The tension is all in your neck and shoulders.”
YES.
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