Date of Origin: September 12, 2017.

The last two weeks have been devastatingly sad and encouragingly optimistic and overwhelmingly humbling all-in-one-go. And though I don't know that anyone reads this any longer, I felt it was worth documenting, at the very least, where we Waldens are at right now.

My friend's baby died two weeks ago.  Almost three weeks, I guess.  I don't know...time has kind of moved like sludge since then.  This beautiful girl was a month or so younger than Eve and her mama and I spent many an overnight working together during our pregnancies.  It was her first and my fifth, but we still compared symptoms and woes.  We talked about all the exciting things and looked through beautiful ruffled outfits and registries together.  We would ultrasound ourselves and each other to peek at our sweet ones' faces.  She was due March 21st, I was due February 1st.  Eve was born January 27th and Ziyah was born March 1st.  And, one night, both of our babies laid down to sleep and only one woke up.  Just typing that made me fall apart on the inside.  If it affects me that deeply, I simply cannot imagine how my friend must feel.  And yet, I think about her and her baby every. single. day.  More than once.  I can't seem to put my littlest girl down.  I can't stop watching her breathe or smelling her skin.  I can't stop trying to imagine how my friend must feel and then crying with hurt. I can't stop my brain from working like that and I can't stop wondering when life will go back to how it was.

Except, I know that it won't.  Because I've been in a similar position before, and I remember thinking the same thing.  And life doesn't ever return to how it was because the feelings don't go away.  The what-ifs and the beautiful memories and the painful thoughts, they linger.  You don't ever really forget the way that life hands out unfairities and expects us to move along.  You just learn to accept it, I guess.  But it doesn't stop hurting just because you want it to.

Beyond that, school (did I tell you I was back in it?) is getting me down.  And the constant cleaning and running errands and wishing I had time to paint and redecorate and reorganize.  Wishing for something more than I have, which is ridiculous.  It's shameful.  But...it's me.

And, so, here I am, wallowing in hurt that doesn't even really belong to me, except that I can relate to some degree, and I'm surrounded (literally, on all sides) by the very best things that life has to offer.  The very best.

Adam and I went to a concert together last week.  And, though that's not really out-of-the-ordinary, we had the most wonderful time.  Like, the MOST wonderful time.  And, that night, I resigned myself to the fact that our family really was done growing (at least that we plan for) because I had forgotten what we were like alone.  And, honestly, I really like Adam.  I love him, of course.  But, beyond that, I really like him.  I like what he has to say and how he says it.  I like the way he laughs and how he's SO laid back about everything.  (I mean, really, it would be annoying if he wasn't so damn cute.)  Adam is the best husband.  He's the best friend.  And the best dad.  He's the best.  I'm glad he's mine.  My first blessing.

And Patrick, halfway-to-grown with a charming little giggle and an otherwise-serious demeanor - he's my second.

Leo, the pretty one, with the most sensitive heart (oh, but the tears...ugh), and the most loving acts, he's my third.

William, his wild eyes dancing and his particular and peculiar ways-of-living, my fourth.

Annemarie, with her passion for fashion and her sharp-witted-tongue, fifth.

And, Eve, she's my sixth.  My sixth perfectly-timed blessing.  And, since you do not know much about her, let me fill you in:

Eve is seven months old and so very soft.  She's so happy, so quietly happy with her giant smile and silent laugh.  She does speak a little, "mama" and "dada" and "hi" and "baba."  She claps her hands and kicks like crazy when something makes her happy, and that's almost always.  She's physical, climbing and crawling and cruising around furniture.  (She started to crawl just before she turned six months.  Later that month, she pulled herself up.) She likes to rest her forehead against my lips and sit motionless.  She'll sleep just like that all night long.  She makes my heart so very happy, and I still hold hers over mine just to feel them beating together.  She really is "mine," in that nobody can make her as happy as I do.  And nobody in the entire world loves me the way that girl does, I cannot begin to tell you what that feels like.  Happiness.  It feels like happiness.

Despite all this, I'm still wrapped in an itchy anxiety blanket, wishing I could will myself to feel the way I want to - grateful, that is.  And it's not that I don't see how lucky I am, but that I can't shake this unsettled feeling long enough to actually see the big picture.

And that is where I am. 

Bless.