I hold my precious girl as I sob for my angel.
Rowan has endured five eye exams … among many other “things”. Her cry during these exams is absolutely heartbreaking. I can’t describe it, but I know it hurts. I sit in the room with her and the eye doctor and nurse. I am told I can leave the room because it can be tough. If my girl can stick it out, I can too. I don’t want to leave her side. I cringe and am on the verge of tears every time her tears start streaming. I’m not a masochist; this is just part of how I mother I guess.
I hear silence, confirm the exam is over, then scoop up my precious, brave girl. I hold her and am in awe of her bravery and strength.
I can’t believe she’s mine. I can’t believe I finally have her. My heart is so full. I thank Jesus for her as she snuggles against my chest. I ache for my Emmanuelle; I hold onto hope that Jesus is snuggling her in His arms.
I am vulnerable this week. I am starting to doubt Rowan’s homecoming in time for Christmas. It’s disappointing; I had daydreamed of Christmas Day with my family at home. I feel guilty too; my heart aches for my husband as I know he’d anticipated this as well.
It could be worse. I know. Trust me, I know. But I’ve hit a rock bottom that is so overwhelmingly fucked up – I just want my baby home for Christmas. I have endured my fair share of disappointments.
The anticipated sleep deprivation hurts so good. These moments; these precious moments.
Her father and I watched videos of Rowan last night. Videos of her shortly after birth. I cried. It’s been a long, tough road.
I ache for Emme. The joy is overwhelming at the same time.
The gratitude also. That.
The Lord taketh, but – boy – does He give. My cup runneth over. Other happy assholes wouldn’t think so if they read my story.
But it does. It overflows.