I have hesitated writing this post for days now.

After all, who wants to hear it? Who wants to remember it?

But for those of you who love me and have inquired, here it is in all its splendour.

I am miserable. I feel like some super-bug has invaded my body and is going for total annihilation. My poor children have been fending for themselves in between others coming in here and there to rescue them from my unwilling abandon. The guilt grows every day.  The house is falling apart, amidst the efforts of my mother-in-law trying to keep things together at the seams. When I hear her working away I want to tell her that she doesn't have to do that, but on the other hand I want to cry for gratitude - if she doesn't do it, who will? (I must give credit to my children who have tried to be helpful and to my husband who comes home every day after work to a messy house and hungry children - enter guilt once more.) I have not slept well for weeks as my body has decided that it needs to wake up and use the bathroom every hour ALL NIGHT LONG!

Somewhere in the middle of all of this perspective is lost. Life changes. And you wonder if it will
ever be the same again. I hate this illness. How can something so good feel so bad? I begin to feel as though it will never end and that I am not expecting a baby at all, put surviving an attack on my entire existence. Anger hits . . . and I entertain it for a moment. Somewhere between the prayers and the bathroom everything is lost in translation. I speak words of acceptance. I pray that I will be willing to accept His will for me, and yet I don't believe it. You see you can desire acceptance while longing for relief. I don't want to suffer this out. I want it taken away. Day after day, night after night, I begin to feel alone and unheard. I want to be better and I want to be better now. And when I am to exhausted to fight anymore and I feel beaten, it is then that the thought comes to my mind, Why do I want to be better? And as soon as I am will I forget at least in part my dependence on Him.  This nightmare has a fairly tale ending (I pray). I will get better. This will pass. I will be okay. As much as I have forgotten what it even is to feel normal, I will once more.

And yet if I were to be totally honest I would have to say that when this phase is finished I will still have the reality of adding another soul to our family. The idea is daunting! I love this baby - love has nothing to do with it, but can I care for so many children? Can I, weak and flawed as I am, do a good job at raising people?

I read this quote among another amazing piece of written word, "You don't get to make up most of your story. You get to make peace with it." Perspective returns and I understand. No matter how well we plan, no matter how well we organize, things will happen. Life will throw us curve balls, and we will feebly swing, missing the mark and wondering what is wrong with us, with this. These curve balls can bring us to our end, no strategies left to attempt. And this is where God would have us come, not to stay, but to learn and then move on. This is where we make peace with our lives. Once we have let go the anger, hurt, surprise, unknowing, and reliance on our own strength, then can He step in and do his work. Then will the peace come, His peace. You see God does not sit around tallying all the times me mess up, all the things left on our to-do list at the end of the day. He is already and has always been at peace. He will count my prayers for acceptance of this illness, He will add up my good deeds for the day, even when they are grossly out numbered by the opposite. He will take all I have and ask nothing more and fill in where I lack.

What a lovely way of saying how much you love me

I had big plans. If it were ever to happen again I would keep it to myself for as long as possible this time, because you see I would not get sick. This time would be different.

Happen it did. And it began with high hopes. But as the nausea grew, excitement faded. Slowly life began to shut down, life as I know it anyhow. The hope that had filled my heart, hope of health and strength is overcome with despair. I cannot do this again. I am not strong enough.

I lie in bed. I re-read this and cry for myself. This is my fate. This is the course my body will always take when new life grows inside. This is the road I am left to travel, and it feels too hard. It is too much to bear. Why did I hold out hope?

Because hope is the only option. It is all you have when faced with hardship. If we begin without hope we end without vision. I believe in the mercy of a God who loves me, I believe He could remove this burden from me, but when He doesn't I am left to wonder and wander. Hope slowly, but surely evaporates, although not entirely as I had first suspected.

In my desperation to fill minutes that tick ever so slowly on, I find this and I cry again, but not for myself this time, for the loss of another and the health of new life growing in me. 

Hope for a different kind of pregnancy than my body seems capable of providing is gone, hope of being able to carry this secret surprise until it would no longer be hidden behind carefully chosen clothing and well positioned arms, the hope of health, the strength to maintain a sense of normalcy for my family, and an ability to remain engaged with my husband and children is gone. But the hope itself has not disappeared, only has it changed identity without my even realizing. 

The worry of how I will ever find the time and energy to care for another human being is replaced with the shadow of a fear of how will I ever be the same if I don't get that opportunity. It is then that I discover that I am not without hope, that hope simply has a new home, in womb under heart. It is the hope for the unborn, it is a hope of health and wholeness for this tiny person. No longer does my suffering matter, no matter what must be waded through, I will do it with renewed hope in new life.

Yet the chance remains that my fate could follow the pathway to loss.

Whatever happens, whatever the outcome, I must remember that His purpose, not mine will be accomplished. If that means a baby in my arms at the end of this journey or one more soul up heaven, is not mine for the deciding. He is holding me as I hold this promise of a child.

Yet the truth of my state lingers still as I remain out of commission. And when the guilt and the worry become all too much and I wake in the morning crying - I don't even know what they've eaten for the past week, or if they even remember that they have a mother, much like the lost boys, do they know I am here even though I am not there - it is then that my very own seven year old "lost boy" walks in with hot pancakes and says, "Breakfast in bed! . . . Do you know that we all love you mom, and that we are all trying to take care of you?" How could I not? It is I who should be caring for you, but instead it is them taking care of me.

I wish I could report that I was graceful in trials and patient in affliction. I cannot. However, I can say that hope remains, that, and the love of my family, the tender strength of my husband and the willing support of friends will see us through.

Hopefully . . .

Ode to Sunshine {Inspired by Dr. Seuss and The Cat in the Hat}

The sun did not shine.

It was too wet to play.

So we sat in the house 

All that cold, cold, wet day.

We sat there together.

We sat there, us all.

Only dad worked outside 

As the rain, it did fall.

For five days it poured.

For five days it rained.

Until our poor mother

thought she might go insane.

She schooled us and schooled us

'Til we each had enough.

What we need, our dear mother

Is more interesting stuff.

Books are amazing, 

Books are such fun.

But what children like best

Is to play in the sun.

We read books of adventure,

Learn of lands far away,

But the way we learn best

Is to put books into play.

We dig down to China,

Find treasure in sand.

We travel to Hogwarts -

 What a magical land.

From up in the tree tops

We spy pirates on sea.

Grab your swords mates, get ready -

Black Beard it may be!

These games can be played 

While inside the house.

But, dear mother, we've noticed

Your hair falling out.

We are noisy and loud

As you full well know.

 Our imaginations, dear mother 

They need room to grow.

One day, no problem,

Quite possibly two.

But five days of rain?

That will just never do. 

Just when we thought 

Our dear mother would crack,

We woke up this morning

And what had come back?

Birds where chirping and singing

Way up in the trees,

For the sun had returned.

We all felt so pleased.

We are leaving the house!

Our dear mother exclaimed.

We are driving away 

Before someone gets maimed.

Pack your bags, get your shoes

Grab a snack so your fed.

We will not be returning 

'Til the sun goes to bed.

Then sweet little children,

When your good and sleepy,

We'll come back to our house.

I no longer feel weepy!

Upstairs we will climb,

And your prayers will be said.

I will kiss you all sweetly

And tuck you in bed.

Then, my dear children,

My thanks I'll express,

For this day of sunshine -

Dear Lord, I feel blessed.

I thank thee for rain.

It waters our crops.

The problem is simply

When it just will not stop.

The sunshine you see, 

It does so much more

 Than to simply feed plants.

It makes spirits soar!

Now children grow strong 

From the foods they consume. 

But the sunshine they get, 

It drives away gloom.

If you want happy children, 

And a mother that's sane,

Add lots of sunshine,

instead of just rain.