Our new little brother!

(He likes his fingers and is very wiggly.)

Yippeeee!   I can finally spread the news far and wide!

You probably guessed it:  We are expecting a new baby at the end of November!   We are all very happy and excited.  I can't wait to cuddle a newborn again.  I hope to have an update in the next couple of days.  God has really blessed us, and we are so thankful. 

Flylady will really come in handy during the nesting process.  :)

I've spent the week catching up a bit, and though I've read a few of the major blogs on my roll, I haven't been inspired to update.

Since I've been boring lately I'll just photo-blog with a few up-to-the-minute pictures...

No more denial.  I'm a box-a-holic.

Here's what everyone's doing right now.

Legos...

More legos...

Yet more legos...

Starfall.com...

Napping, which is right where I want him at the moment...

What a little pill he was this morning.  Definitely the right prescription for him.

As you can see from the pictures, I haven't vacuumed in a while.  I'm calling the exterminator tomorrow, and that will force me to vacuum the entire house.

Yesterday, we took the kids to the pool.  DH wasn't all there, but just to keep from disappointing them, he got up from his migraine-shot-induced stupor long enough to watch the bigger kids from the side of the pool, to ensure they didn't drown.  (Yes, the migraines are back.  :( )  I met our near neighbors, from a couple of doors down.  It was nice to learn their names.  They have a cute little boy not much older than Pudge.

We hope to get out and do some fun stuff before long.  That means I'll have more interesting pictures to share, assuming I don't forget the camera again.

Peace!

I should probably note here that Pudge has been weaned for about a week now.  :(  I won't remember when he weaned if I don't make a record.

He was down to one nursing session a day, in the early morning.  One morning I forgot to nurse him, and from that time on, he has been completely weaned.  He drinks milk in the mornings out of his sippy cup.

Weaning is a bittersweet process.  I was ready to be done sharing my body, yet conflicted...wasn't quite ready to let go of that one thread that still connected him to my body.  It's a gradual process, separating from a baby.  He's getting to the age where he runs to Daddy readily for a hug.  It's very sweet.  He's learned that he and mama are not one in the same. 

So strange, how babies grow from a part of you, in your very "middle," then separate at birth, but are still so dependent upon mommy's nourishment and contact.  It's a bit of a twinge for a mommy as each binding thread is cut.  But all is as it should be.  It wouldn't be a good thing at all if they never grew up and gained independence.  That's my job... to work myself out of a job, as they say.

I meant to include this in my post about Laura.  This the lyric we read at Olivia's baby dedication in remembrance of her sister.  It's my favorite lullabye, drawn from one of my favorite stories, George MacDonald's At the Back of the North Wind.  The song is by David Edwards, and it's from his lovely Dreams, Tales, and Lullabies CD.

When Diamond was a baby

And wise for one his age

He met a certain lady

A kind and chilly sage

The North Wind came one evening

She plucked him from his bed

And soon he took to singing

And this is what he said:

"Take me in your gentle hand

Meet me in the morrow

Show me to the northern lands

I'll leave this world of sorrow

There a river calls to me

It's singing oh, so sweetly

And its rhyme and melody

Are waiting there to greet me."

He let the lady hold him

She pressed him to her breast

And swept the streets below him

With a whisper from her breath

Now Diamond didn't know her

As older people do

So when the ride was over

He sang a little tune:

"Take me in your gentle hand

Meet me in the morrow

Show me to the northern lands

I'll leave this world of sorrow

There a river calls to me

It's singing oh, so sweetly

And its rhyme and melody

Are waiting there to greet me."

As Diamond used to greet her

And soar across the sky

Someday you'll want to meet her

She'll be your wings to fly

So if the North Wind finds you

When your slumbering is deep

Put all your fears behind you

And sing this as you sleep:

"Take me in your gentle hand

Meet me in the morrow

Show me to the northern lands

I'll leave this world of sorrow

There a river calls to me

It's singing oh, so sweetly

And its rhyme and melody

Are waiting there to greet me."

Memorial day is over, but today is another memorial day for me.  Today is the day that my Olivia was born, and her twin sister, Laura, was stillborn.

I had a dream once, a couple of years ago, that I walked into the living room and saw a child who looked just like mine, yet wasn't mine.  She had Olivia's face, and was Olivia's age, but she wasn't Olivia.  She was new to our home, a stranger of sorts.  I realized who she was, and I went up to her and hugged her so tightly.   It was as if she had simply dropped by for a visit.  That's all I remember; the dream faded after that. 

She'd be nine years old now, or very soon, had she lived to delivery.  For an unknown reason, at around 32 weeks, her heart stopped beating.  The doctor suspected it was a cord accident, or possibly genetic.  I have reason to believe the girls were identical twins, so I deem the former more likely.  My doctor induced labor, at my request, right at 36 weeks because I didn't want to carry any longer.  Had she lived, this no doubt would not have been their birthday.

I sought symmetry in naming them.  Olivia and Laura are botanical in origin, the olive symbolizing peace, and the laurel, praise and victory.  Their middle names, Brooke and Blythe, respectively, are at least superfically symmetrical...same length, same initial.  I was so happy to be having twins, but I did not name them decisively until after Laura's death.  I always felt somewhat guilty about that.  She should have been something more than "Baby B" in my heart.

Inscribed on Laura's headstone--a tiny little block of pink granite somewhere in northeast Georgia--is a scripture reference:  Revelation 21:4. 

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” 

I wrote about our experience with the loss of a twin many years ago for the newsletter published by Center for Loss in Multiple Birth (C.L.I.M.B.).   Their newsletter is a forum, of sorts, for bereaved parents of multiples...a place where they can see their child's name in print and speak freely and remember.  

I can't access the article since our hard drive sickened and died, but even if I could, I would not reproduce it here in full.  The painful part of remembering Laura is past.  What I saw of Laura was her chrysalis, an empty shell.  Her spirit had already flown when I held her body in my arms.  She's not in that grave we left behind in Georgia. 

I have turned instead to the future.  She doesn't "belong to me" in the sense that my other children do.  She doesn't need my nurturing, my sheltering, my teaching, my wisdom and she won't suffer from my mistakes, flaws, sins, or absurdities.  She doesn't need me at all.  That's a good thing.   No tears, no pain, no mourning.  Life so abundant that someone here in the "shadowlands" can only envision it in terms of what it is not.   Imagine growing up that way, in the presence of God.  She is light-years ahead of me right now.  When I see her someday, I will witness a woman with her humanity in full flower.  Mine, still ever-so-slowly unfurling, by the grace of God.

I've always felt a bit of pique when people tell me that death is a natural part of life.  Death is not natural.  Our spirits rebel against it with good reason.  We know in our heart of hearts that it wasn't meant to be this way, and that death is a thief. 

However, the life my daughter now lives is the life God intended for humanity from the beginning...free, direct, open fellowship with Him.   When I think of her, it is always in the "now," and always of her fully alive and awake being.  Not as "my" deceased baby, but as His daughter...joyful, abundantly alive, and free.  She was never "mine" from the beginning.  None of our children are truly ours, except for a temporary sojourn, a brief subset, "childhood," of an only slightly longer sojourn called "life." 

Oh, how we should praise Him continually for his gifts, beyond all that we deserve!  How gracious and merciful and kind is our God.  What a treasure is each being to whom He grants life.  I only wish I were awake and alive enough to perceive the full value of his gifts.  Someday, I will.  Someday, I will be where she is.  I will see His face and know as I am known. 

I suppose, in the end, that I am not remembering so much as hoping.