Easter Sunday

Five years ago on Easter Sunday, I took the pregnancy test that heralded the arrival of our first baby -  one that would be a beautiful, blond-haired, blue-eyed son - 9 months down the road.  I was dumbfounded.  Even though we'd been haphazardly "trying", I didn't really think it could happen to me.

Two years ago, I took the pregnancy test that would end in the first of two miscarriages over the next year.  Not knowing that at the time, I was ecstatic - I wanted a baby this time.

This Easter Sunday, it'd been six days since I'd taken the pregnancy test that announced my fourth pregnancy and even several days later I was still stunned.  Silent. Terrified.  Jeremy and I'd barely talked about it, other than to share our mutual, initial feelings of "Oh, no" not "Oh, yeah!"

Don't get me wrong - we still want this baby, desperately.  But now we know the heartache that can lie ahead and we know we have a very long ways to go to get to a happy ending.

But mostly, we know that while we can handle another loss - our complete shock upon discovery of the pregnancy shows how much we'd internalized the fact that we might not ever get another chance - it will crush our blond-haired, blue-eyed boy to lose yet another chance at a sibling.

The boy was meant to be a big brother.  He's already decided it's a girl (he's wanted a baby sister for awhile now) and that she can use the bed he's too big for, have one of his stuffed animals to sleep with, and go across the street with him to play with friends.  

So over the last week, we've slowly started opening up - to the fact that we are pregnant (it's a constant soundtrack in my head, yet feels so surreal to say aloud), to family and friends about the pregnancy, and to God, begging Him countless times daily - in silence and out loud - to let us meet this baby and keep it with us here on earth.  If for no other reason, than this boy right here:

Easter egg hunting