A couple of weeks ago, normal everyday activites and decisions were just... normal. Our biggest stresses were - well, I can't even remember. Life before the news seems like a different life. Now, everything takes so much energy.
Friday was my first day at home alone with all 4 kids since July 3. Levi spilled what seemed like a gallon of chocolate milk all over the floor. Seth emptied my purse and found most of a bag of Skittles, which also ended up all over the floor. I let him eat them all. Off the floor. (Hmm... chocolate milk and Skittles. All before 9am. Oh, well.) I piled all the kids in the car to go pay off a bill at a doctor's office that I will never return to again. We went to the bread store where the nice ladies (who probably recognize me now after years of regular visits to get cheap bread) don't have a clue how my heart feels like it's being ripped in half. My phone fell into the pool. It is now sitting in a bag of rice. Activites typical of a normal day. But all of it just took So. Much. Energy.
Yesterday, Seth jumped into the pool, and his head hit my lip. It wasn't by any means an awful injury. But it stung. My lip swelled just a little. And I cried. I don't remember the last time I cried over an injury, and this wasn't even a real injury. It's something I would have called a 'boo-boo' on one of the kids. But I cried. If I'd been alone, I would have sat down and sobbed. I cry over anything. My sweet friend got me some ice, and I'm sure the lifeguards, if they caught a glimpse of the tears on my face, thought I was a baby.
Then we received a check in the mail - reimbursement from Melissa's adoption assistance fund. Some of the reimbursement was unexpected, so now we need to decide what to do with it. There are so many things we could use it for. The van needs a new tire, and the alignment needs to be fixed. Elijah and Missy need school clothes. The bushes in our backyard that line the street desperately need to be trimmed back by a professional. But then I think... screw it all. Forget what the doctors have said, and go buy crib bedding for Elliana. Go and find her a homecoming outfit. Start redecorating Missy's bedroom and make space for her new sister.
And then, 'reality' comes back. Maybe we should save that money. We may need it for a funeral. We may need to pick out a coffin.
I can't believe I'm even writing these things.
I may need to find a dress for her to be buried in. Do people have funerals for babies who die before they're 'full-term'? What if she's stillborn? And if you don't have a funeral, what do you do? 'The world' doesn't seem to value life until after a baby is born. But I've heard her heart beating. Many times now. I've seen her squirming. I've felt her kicking. I know she's very much alive.
Tuesday, another big ultrasound day, is less than 48 hours away. The closer we get to it, the more hope I feel. Elliana is such an active baby. I don't remember feeling Levi or Seth nearly this much at just 20 weeks. (Or maybe I just have a horrible memory, and Levi and Seth were this active.) But I can't help but think that the doctors have to be wrong. Maybe it's the irrational mother in me that thinks, 'She's strong. She's a fighter. She's kicking me and squirming on top of my bladder and swimming away from the ultrasound tech to let me know that those doctors can't tell her when she's gonna die.'
I suspect that if we get to enjoy Elliana's life outside of the womb, we're going to have a strong-willed little girl on our hands. That's ok. She'll fit right in at our house.
UGH. (I'm going to drive myself nuts.) I bounce between hope and fear in just SECONDS.
Now I'm back to fear. Fear that allowing myself to hope is just a set-up for Tuesday to be another awful, awful day.
And then there's the occasional comment from Levi that catches me off guard and makes me laugh. Like just now, 'Mom, you stink a little bit. But not much. Hey, I thought you were gonna get me some juice?' A little bit of normal.
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