The 8th and 9th of each month are a little difficult for me – one is Evie’s birthday and one marks her Heavenly birthday. This month she would have been two months. She would have been getting really good at holding her head up, smiling and cooing a lot, and maybe even waking up less at night.
Instead though, she has been in Heaven for two months. I wonder what she has done and who she has met and what she likes to do there. I wonder if she knows about her family down here and how much Mommy misses her. But I do know she is safe and secure and loved.
But no matter what I still miss her. I miss her terribly. I think about her all the time, just as often as I think of Micah; she is my baby and I will probably never go one day without thinking of her. Most certainly not anytime soon. Sometimes people comment that it seems like these two months have passed by so quickly. Not to me. I have felt every day drag by.
Every part of my day reminds me of Evie. Since learning I was pregnant with Baby #2 last March I had been picturing the fun things I would do with my two sweeties. There is not one aspect of my mommy life that I hadn’t imagined being permeated with a new love.
Sometimes I let myself pretend. I let myself pretend that she’s here.
While I am snuggling Micah to sleep around 7:30/8:00 pm every night I sometimes try to imagine what it would be like if, after I had tucked him in, I had a cooing little pink bundle waiting for me. I would probably nurse her and spend some special mommy-daughter time with her. She would probably watch me clean the kitchen from the little froggy bouncy-seat that used to be Micah’s. And I imagine sometimes I would stop what I was doing and turn around just to stare at her cuteness.
|Photo courtesy of Kyla from Tossie’s Tree and Painted Rocks|
When Micah and I play outside and go for walks I wish I was wearing my baby Bjorn filled with my Evie-girl. And I wish she was there to watch her brother and I know he would make her laugh and smile, maybe better than even I could!
Micah and I usually wave goodbye to Josh from the front door anytime he leaves. When we found out we were pregnant I couldn’t wait until there were three of us saying goodbye to the daddy we love so much. How I wish it were so!
Micah often sweetly snuggles his stuffed animals and tucks them into bed. My heart always aches when I see that, wishing with all my might that he could be doing that with his baby sister.
When I am driving I sometimes let me heart pretend that instead of one carseat in the back there are two and one holds my bubby talkative two-year old and the other holds my sleeping two-month old rocked into slumber by the lull of the car ride.
When we are in public I wish I had two kids to juggle and that people would ogle over my girlie’s chubby cheeks and big blue eyes.
When we’re at church standing and singing during the worship time I wish so badly that I had my baby all snuggled close to me in her baby sling. And then at some point I would have to sneak out and nurse her. I wanted all of that so badly.
I can hardly walk past a baby girl’s clothing section without a huge knot developing in my throat.
And honestly I still can’t hold babies yet. Not that I don’t love my friends and their babies and am so happy for them, it’s just so hard. The thought of it makes me want to cry. I don’t have baby fever – I have Evie fever. I don’t want to hold anyone’s baby or even another one of my babies; I want one specific baby who is now in Heaven and will never return. The pain is so real and so raw.
Friends often express their desire to talk to me about Evie but not make me sad unnecessarily. They wonder if I’m having a “good moment” and speaking of Evie would turn that moment into a bad one. Let me just say that I am never not thinking about Evie and there is never a time when I don’t want to talk about her. Since she isn’t here speaking about her is the only way to make her feel present and to keep her memory alive. I absolutely love talking about my girl just as any parent loves talking about their child. Imminent tears don’t mean I want to avoid speaking of Evie, not one bit.
Missing Evie is just a part of my life now. Missing her is a part of the cross the Lord has now asked me to bear. I can only hope that one day I can comfort a mommy who is walking a similar road to the one I have walked and testify of the Lord’s great goodness and mercy. Despite the sadness He is still an ever-present help in my trouble (Psalm 46:1).