There are so many things going on in all of our lives right now... so many things that I want to pick up the phone and call my Mom to talk about.  I miss calling her when I'm happy.  I miss calling her when I'm sad.  I miss calling her when the boys do something new or funny.  I miss calling her out when she does or says something silly.

I miss seeing her come out the front door to greet us when we get to their house. 

I miss calling it Grandma and Grandpa's house.

I miss calling to tell her what my blood pressure was.  Silly... but she cared about that.

I miss feeling like myself.

I miss....everything.

The individuality of grief is very interesting to me.

I read an article earlier this week about the things people want their friends to say or do after a loss.  But what a tricky, tricky thing that is.  What one person wants or maybe even NEEDS to hear varies so much.

People have always compared me to my Dad.  We are SO similar in SO many ways.  Yes, I apologize for this... I tend to think I got a little screwed on the gene dispersion.

My Dad goes to the cemetary several times a week.  Since Mom died, he's put up pictures of her all over the house.  He needs that.  It's part of his process.

It is NOT part of mine.

I have no desire to ever visit her grave.  Dad asks our opinion on what to put on the tombstone, and I'll tell him even if I don't want to see it. I don't want to see the trees planted in her memory, or see a light that is hung in her name.

She is dead.  I know this and I hate this and I don't want any tangible reminders of it.

I don't mind talking about her, in fact I need to talk about her, but right now I have a hard time looking at pictures of her.  That is part of my process.

And how are people to know that Lewie and "Little Lewie" can be so different?

A few nights ago, Suttie and I were laying together watching a few cartoons before bedtime.  "Mommy?  I see Baby Oh Oh?" he said handing me the iPod. 

Keegers and Suttie LOVE "their" Baby Owen.

"Sure you can!" I said as I dialed up the old Facebook.  "Just a minute, I just have to find Aunt Wheezy's pictures!"

We started out with some recent shots, and scrolled our way through all the way back to his earliest days.

The pictures of my mom holding him about did me in.  The first one, a profile shot of he snuggling him... Suttie didn't recongnize at first.  That caused the tears to start.  Then moving to the one where Mom was so proudly holding him at work.  Wow.  Those are always hard to see because I know we won't get any more of those.

I had to put down the ipod though after seeing the one of Keegers and Suttie during our first visit to see Baby Oh Oh.  Not because of the pictures, but of the comments that my mom had made on those pictures. 

She adored our babies... and wasn't afraid to share it!

I miss those little comments.  I love that we still have them, to know what she was thinking in that moment... but I hate knowing that we have every picture of her that we are going to have... and she's made every comment that she is going to make.

I've made a choice.

A choice that will hopefully never have needed to be made.

A choice that many will probably not agree with, but luckily... it's not their choice to make.

I've made a choice, and I've shared it with my husband and he's fine with it too.

My choice is based on too many Lifetime/Hallmark/Chick flicks.

My choice is this.

If something were to happen between now and the time this baby is born, and the doctor says to my poor husband, "We can only save one of them, you have to choose which one."

I want him to save me.

Egads!  The selfishness!  The humanity!  What kind of mother am I?  How could I do that to my child?

I've long ago since conceeded that I'll never be the level of mother my mom was.  I might be the shittiest kind out there, but the fact remains that I'm the only one that Keegers and Suttie have.

And here's the deal. 

I've lost a mom.

I've lost someone who vowed to love me and protect me until her dying breath.

I've lost someone who could heal me with a hug or a smile or a shoulder or a kind word.

I've been devestated beyond repair by that loss, and I can't imagine putting my boys through that same loss.

I know everything there is to know about those boys.  I know their quirks, their smiles, their fears.  I know their smells, I've tasted their tears, and I've felt their hugs.

I vow to love them and protect them until their dying breath.

I LOVE this baby.  I will do everything I can to protect this baby, but I have to protect my other babies too.

As terrible as it sounds, I don't know this baby.  I've never seen this baby's face or heard this baby's cry.  I've never snuggled this baby, or wiped it's tears away.

I don't know this baby in the same way that I know Keegers and Suttie.

My mom would never for a second have made the same choice. 

Maybe God came to her, and told her that he had planned to give me this baby... but that I would lose it.

Maybe my mom made the choice right then.  To have God take her instead of me or this baby.

I wouldn't put it past her.

I know my choice will change.  The instant this baby is born and I see it's sweet little Murphy Ege face... my choice will change.  If in the delivery room they hand me that baby and something starts to happen... I know what the choice will be.  It's not that I believe that this little one's life begins at birth.  Far from that.  It's hard to explain.

A better mom would make the choice the instant she found out she was pregnant.  But unfortunately for all my babies.... I'm the only mom they get.

I'm a Duck. Thank you for being a Fish.

Someone said to me a couple of weeks ago..."You seem to be doing so well with everything."  This was moments after I had had a partial breakdown out of nowhere.

Those happen, and they aren't usually partial, but usually I can hold out on them until I'm alone.

I'm a duck.

Well that seems random, so I should explain.

On the surface... things are calm and serene and I'm floating along in my happy little pond.

Most days, I appear to be just a normal happy little duck, letting the water roll off my back.

My Mom was like that.  She would go shopping, leave on vacation or walk into Thanksgiving or Christmas celebrations, the picture of serenity, happy to see everyone, joking and hugging and smiling.

My mom was a duck too.

We see the duck above the water, but do you know what a duck looks like to a fish?

To a fish, a duck is this violent storm of kicking and splashing around just trying to get where they are going... knowing they won't survive if they don't...all while the rest of the world thinks they have no cares in the world.

The fish know the truth. 

The truth is, my mom secretly (well not so secretly to us...) had major anxiety attacks before all those events.  I learned to just try to take over to get some things done just like Karri always did... Dad and Lindsey learned to stay out of her way.  I don't know how many times she threatened to stay home, or to cancel everything.

My Mom was a duck... kicking and fighting to survive... but on the surface she appeared to be letting the water roll right off her back. 

I'm a duck.

On the surface I'm just taking it all in... letting all the muddy water of the last 6 months roll right off my back...

But the fish in my life know.  They know that I am kicking and fighting just to survive... They recognize this and they know they can do two things for me... they can jump in and take over to get things done... or they can get out of my way! 

Thank God for the fish! 

All those fish who tell me... "Just keep swimming... Just keep swimming"

I'm a Duck...and because of the fish I have the strength to just keep swimming and swimming.

Thank you all for being such understanding fish.

We got to see our little one yesterday.

I've been very cautious this time around, not talking about the pregnancy much except with those closest to me.  It's almost as if... ok it's not almost... it's because I'm scared.  I'm scared of getting my heart broken if something happens to this little one.

Yesterday, as we were getting the boys loaded in the car, James and I were making last minute arrangements to meet later to go to the appointment together.

"I always get so nervous going to these things," I said. 

"Why?" he replied. 

"Because what if we get there and they tell us something is..."

"We'll deal with it," he cut in quickly, instantly calming me.

Have I mentioned how much I adore my husband?

I've said from the start that I knew my mom would send us the child she felt was perfect for us.  So if we got there and they told us that there were going to be some special needs with this child or pregnancy... well that would be because that is the child and situation we were meant to have at this time in our life.

Yes.  We know the gender, and no we still aren't telling... because it isn't the important thing to know right now. 

The important thing to know right now is this. 

Our baby is healthy and its' heart is strong.

Of course I know that things can still go wrong, and I can still have my heart broken.  But today.  I'm a little less scared, a little more excited, and a lot more in love with my family.  I'm trusting in my mom's selection and God grace... and I'm trusting in my amazing support system spearheaded by my husband.

And as for the gender, my mom got it right.  But then again it was a win-win situation for her.

What a strange and wonderful, yet bittersweet week this is for me!

It's been all about the numbers and time this week.

I'm counting down the DAYS until the end of school and to the day that our big boys get here for the summer.

Keegers was counting down the DAYS until he turned 4.  He's four YEARS old!  How in the world is that possible?  He had at least a DOZEN friends come to play and celebrate with him!

On Friday, I will be 20 WEEKS pregnant.  My mom hated that we talked in WEEKS for pregnancy now, so I always translated it for her.... that's 4 1/2 MONTHS.  We are halfway there!  Today in fact, we will have an ultrasound and have the chance to see our little one. And... if we choose, we could even find out if my Mom sent us a little boy or a little girl.

We still haven't decided if we will find out or not.... and even if we do, we won't be sharing.

Days, Weeks, Months, Years.

It just keeps on going, doesn't it?

Today marks the 6 month anniversary of Mom's death.  That's half a year, yet feels like a freaking lifetime.

It's funny to me how we make the transition of time.  When did we stop counting the moments, hours, or days?  When did we stop counting Keegan and Sutton's life in the terms of months... and just move on to years?  Age 2? 

I've already left behind hours, days and weeks for my Mom.  How will I feel when I stop counting the months?

This "thing", this loss has made me question these countdowns a whole lot.  When I was pregnant with either of the boys, when someone would ask how far along I was, I think I could quote the weeks and days almost instantly.  It's not the same this time.  I feel like I'm short changing this little one somehow with not showing that same dedication and excitement. 

It's hard to pass the time of my pregnancy.  Each week means that I'm one week farther removed from my mom, and one week closer to not having her here for this baby.  And each hour that I countdown to the Ultrasound, or to the birth of this little one... gets me one hour closer to the day when someone starts counting down for me.

Bittersweet for sure.

But... as I am for sure my mother's daughter... today I'm choosing to focus on the sweet part of that bittersweet.  I'm focused on the candy coating part of my day.

We get to see our baby... her grandbaby.

That's a "hot fudge sundae with chocolate sprinkles and a Hershey Bar on top" kind of sweet day.