So tell me . . . when does it stop hurting? I thought when I reached a certain age . . . it would stop. I thought when they took out all the parts and pieces . . . it would stop. I thought I had resolved this . . . apparently not. I think my doctor visit this past week re-opened the wounds. Seeing my friend remembering her son whom she lost at birth three years ago. Seeing women all around me pregnant. It is still hard for me to be around babies. I still can't do baby showers.
I feel extremely blessed and feel it truly a miracle to have our son Matthew. I remember not being able to enjoy my pregnancy because I was afraid he would be taken away from me any moment . . . that this was a cruel joke. I remember the first day home from the hospital lying in bed holding Matthew and I just burst into tears. My sweet hubby thought I was in pain from the delivery and just didn't know what to do. He then asked me if it had hit me . . . that we just had a baby and he was ours to keep. There was no fear of a birth Mother changing her mind and taking him back.
Then I precariously watched over Matthew through the years . . . praying that he would be okay and that Heavenly Father wouldn't take him home early. I wasn't the over protective Mother, but I have savored every moment.
I love my little Monkey! I love that he is crazy, goofy, loud, creative, loves to read, loves his Legos, loves to dance, loves to live!
My heart hurts when I know at times he wishes he had a brother or a sister. I am so thankful for neighbor kids who give him the opportunity to feel like a sibling . . . the good and the bad.
I am blessed . . . but it still hurts.