Nathan has been a bit more whiney than usual. Elea has started her I’m on the move- get out of my way- it’s all mine phase. Needless to say, there has been a little bit of clashing but interestingly enough, the clashing has been with mommy- not themselves. Just wait a second, I’ll explain further. 

The melting point

We were hanging out in Nathan’s room and I asked him if he wanted to paint. I pulled out the dry paint book and got him some water. He dips the paintbrush (his finger) in water then rubs the colors off the paper and places the color in the chosen area. Easy. Or so I thought. 

He proceeds to tell me he can’t do it and needs my assistance. So while I hold his finger, we dip and paint. Laughing and enjoying our silly art. This moment of bliss lasts about 5.5 seconds before the big baby (Nathan’s nickname for Elea) comes over and tries to destroy our art. I pull her back and as I do, she begins to cry and call out mama and she crawls towards me for cuddles. As I pick her up Nathan starts to cry and says he still needs help. I offer to give him verbal instructions so he can continue to paint without big baby destroying anything, but he says he can’t paint without my hand and begins to unravel. After failed attempts and trying to get him to calm down,  I let him know it’s bath time and we must move on to our night routine, to which he responds he does not want any company. He chooses to stay in his room and cry it out. I move on to the bath. 25 minutes later he walks into the bathroom with a big smile and red eyes (from crying) and asks if we can paint together in the bath. I welcome the idea and again we begin to paint together laughing and cuddling while our big baby reveled in her bath. This moment of joy comes to a screeching end when the baby signs she is ready for bed. Nate’s crying ensues. 

Why can’t the baby get out of the bath by herself?! Why can’t the baby stay in the bath?! Why can’t the baby stop interrupting my mommy and me time?! …why can’t it be like it use to be. Just me and you. 

Bam! 

It hits me like a ton of bricks. Not because they both want me and there isn’t enough of me to go around at the same time. Not because I have to pick and choose sometimes. Not because I have to shush one when the other sleeps. Not because we have to split their scheduling. 

It hits me hard because when it was only Nathan and me, I was different. I didn’t know there would be a version of me before and after. 

After putting Nathan to bed that night, I cried. I cried hard. I felt guilty that I wasn’t able to give him the attention he wanted. Worse yet, I felt guilt for not understanding while it was happening that it wasn’t about the paint, it wasn’t about the baby, it was about him needing more of me. Just a little bit of me and him. Like it use to be. Not for very long, because he can’t live without her. 

He can’t. Seriously. 

But he wanted me just a little extra. Just for that moment. A quick flash back of life when it was just me and him, all day. 

I cried some more. 

There are so many moments when I feel like Nathan. I want to go back to the before. To the me without the deepest of grief. Without knowing what it is like to have lost a child. Living freely without anything missing. Feeling complete. But now in the after, although much wiser and stronger than before, it a a difficult journey, to say the least, to move forward. And much like Nathan, it’s ok to want to feel the love and completeness that I felt at one point. Submerse in the past. The joy I felt two years ago today, knowing that I would have a baby girl in my arms the next day, April 5th, 2014. I had a scheduled C-section. I would get to hold her the next day, and so would Nate.  I feared nothing, because loss was not real. It was a distant truth. 

As I hugged it out with him that night and explained why I had to split my time but that I loved him just the same, if not more, then when it was just the two of us, he said he loved his wild birdie and he understood she needed me. He thanked me for explaining it to him and asked me to lay with him for a little while as he dozed off.  Half asleep, he mumbled, “I love wild birdie (Elea)”. 

We are constantly changing. Morphing. Sometimes willingly and sometimes not. What we do with the hurt, pain, or whatever it may be is up to us. It is not easy, but nothing ever is. Every day I try a little harder to smile and to find joy in little things. To be grateful for the blessing I have received, for as short lived as they may have been. On the eve of Emme Sophia’s second birthday, I am forever grateful to my Father for giving me the opportunity of being Emme’s mother and allowing her to teach me an endless amount of valuable lessons in 8 short days. 

xoxo