Never Replaced

Every time my mom would share with us she was pregnant (jeez-what a sentence that is! It was three times that I can recall!) I would send a wish out into the universe that I hoped it was a boy.  Yes, you read that correctly-it didn't matter that my sister and I were outnumbered and up to our ears in testosterone, I always hoped for a boy.  Yes, the relationships I have with the boys is different, and remarkable because of the differences-age, disposition and temperament, but that wasn't it.  I never wanted to feel replaced.  I know that sounds ridiculous when it's said out loud, but there you have it.  I never wanted to see another little girl doing all of the things that I had done before her-watching my parents relive those moments with just a small change of cast.  Which brings us face to face with all of the feels coursing through this mama's heart in month seven.  I am officially in the third trimester, and just mere weeks away from the end point of my pregnancy with Jack, thirty weeks, and I find myself sending messages up to my baby boy that all go something like this:

Sweet boy,

Please know I am not leaving you behind.  You are not being erased.

The brother that is on his way for Kennedy in no way makes up for the void that was left in her little heart when you died.  I know you hear the conversations she and I still have about you and you see the tears she still cries on the nights she is most lonely; still asking, trying to rectify it all in her mind, "But why, mama?  Why couldn't Jackie stay with us?"  And though she is so excited for Carter to come, she always includes you in the count, always gives you big brother credit too.  

And your room?  I know we never got it finished for you and I always feel guilty about that, but sometimes it was a blessing in disguise for me.  The fact that it still had Kennedy's monogram and left over things on the walls made it a little more bearable when I had to go in there after we came home without you.  I don't know if I really would ever have had the strength to cover you up that way.  You probably looked down and saw me struggling on what to do with that room; heard me crying and tell Daddy, "We can't-then he really won't have a place in this house-I can't do that do him."  And so your dad, God love him, declared it: The boys' room.  And, maybe because I was grasping at something to make it not hurt, or because deep down I like to think that you would have begged for a little sibling to call your own, you would maybe have shared that room with Carter one day regardless, and so we went with it.  Who knows, I'm sure Carter will, one day, get sick of feeling like there is not place for him to call  'just his' but for now, it sticks.  We tried to make it just a boy room-no theme-we'll just wait and see where things take us.  I hope you like it though. 

And all of those clothes that our family and friends bought for you?  The ones that hung there for over two years because I couldn't bring myself to touch them or put them away?  What becomes of those?  Strangely, it was something so many people asked about when they learned we were expecting another boy, and it would drive me wild when I'd hear it: "Will you just use all of the clothes you got from Jack?" Or "Good thing you already have all of those boy clothes!"  On one hand I get it, if he were going to be a girl we'd use all of your sister's clothes and not bat an eyelash; her hand-me-downs.  But these aren't your hand-me-downs, not really.  You didn't get the chance to wear them and grow out of them, so it's not the same.  But they were yours first-that fact is not lost on us.  And so I know you've watched as I did nothing with them, keeping your closet closed and certainly never looking through them, knowing full well how hard it would be.  And then one day not so long ago, I did.  With your dad, I poured over them and decided piece by piece which I could bear to dress your brother in and tucking away the ones I can't, like the tiny outfit we'd brought down to Philly with us, in hopes of bringing you home in it. No, not that one-that is only yours.  Going through the closest was just as excruciating as I built it up to be in my mind.  I sobbed as I touched each thing; reminded how excited we were to have you wear them-you'd already built quite an extensive wardrobe, bud.  Daddy and I made it through it though and talked through it and decided on our mindset together.  I'm trying to look at it as we are weaving you into your brother's life the best we can.  I avoid elephant clothes when I can because that's your thing-it's hard to avoid though, they're everywhere it seems.  I hope it's ok; that you don't mind him wearing them.  

So you see, Jack, we are not replacing you, sweet boy.  No, never that.  We are just finding a way to move forward and still bring you with us.  I promise I will always say I have three children.  I will always say I have one girl and two boys.  I will never leave you out of the count and you will always have a place in our home and, more importantly, in our hearts…

I have variations of this conversation often, feeling like I’m pleading for him to believe me only to realize it’s me the needs some convincing or more like reassurance sometimes.  And so, with only two months and change to go, I am filled with mixed emotions, equal parts excited and terrified. 

Having my little lady, both of us officially off for the summer, keeps my mind focused and busy and in a good place.  We are excitedly getting ready for a weeklong stay on Martha's Vineyard and the beach life, doing our best to stay cool as the belly grows and the temperature climbs.  

Ice pops and happy thoughts are what carry me through.  

Slowing Things Down

Whenever grown-ups would say things like, “It seems like it was just yesterday…” I would roll my eyes.  I couldn’t grasp the concept.  Well to steal their sentiment, it seems like it was only yesterday that I had this brand new baby girl in my arms, letting a day just fall away while I stared at her in utter amazement.  And suddenly, all in a week’s time, Sean and I found ourselves sitting in the audience of a dance recital and a preschool graduation.  And more than once I have caught myself literally wiping the tears that start streaming down my face; I can’t help but take in the fact that that same baby girl is five and finishing up all of the things that a year ago, made her seem like a real little kid, and now, make her seem too old.  How can it be that we are here already?  Her first year of dance over, two years of preschool coming to a close, and her first foray in organized sports winding down; it’s going too fast.  I feel like I’m losing her.

Now I know, this seems a tad over dramatic but hear me out.  These first, precious, five years, when we have been the center of her little world are behind us and, ahead of her, all of these new little people that over time will come to mean just as much if not more to her.  Their opinions will be the ones she will hear loud and clear, sometimes drowning out our voices in her head telling her all of the good things a mom and dad desperately try to convince their little ones of.  She will go to school in September, and that will be where most of the best things in her day will happen, and I can only hope she’ll want me to know about it all.  And, as pathetic as it sounds, I won’t be her “best friend” anymore.  I can’t be; the introduction of all of these outsiders will force me to take off the “friend” hat for good (or at least for the next thirteen-ish years) and be her mom-the one she will direct all of her frustration at, the one that will ruin a perfectly good time because I worry too much or assume too much.  Don’t get me wrong-it has to be done and so I will step into that role willingly-if for no other reason than to do my part to ensure I am not sending an a**hole out into the world, but it still makes me sad. 

And so, this week I found myself wishing time would slow down so I could do a better job of taking it all in.  Willing myself not to get frustrated at the little things: the tantrums, the willfulness.  I did my best to stop and absorb the things that may stop in the coming years: the way she touches my face or asks me how my day is, unsatisfied if I don’t offer up enough detail.   I watched this little girl who, quite literally, dances like no one is watching or can’t imagine anyone laughing at her for it or sings louder than any of the other children, not even a hint of self-consciousness and I offered up a silent prayer to whoever listens to the pleas of a mama on the edge ‘Please don’t let the world ruin her. Don’t let it take this from her.’

Whether it was heard or not, she danced her little heart out and performed the songs, complete with the sign-language I didn’t know she knew, with an unrestrained joy that made my eyes leak and my heart feel so full.

Sean is away this weekend on his golf annual with the men of my family and so, as Kennedy says every five minutes, it’s a girl’s weekend for us! I hope she’ll always be this happy to spend a weekend home with me.  We have some much needed sunshine and heat coming our way so I already know that the days will bring lots of time outside, with dirty knees and feet, but a whole lot of smiles too. 

I am doing my best to slow this time with her down; this last summer before I have to let her go and allow her to begin to build a little life outside of her family.  I will squeeze out every last drop of it that I can and that this big baby bump will allow for.

That being said it’s my last week of work for the school year and it can’t end soon enough.  So next week; I will slow it all down next week.