One thing I have learned about myself over the past several years is that I hate cold weather. And by cold, I mean anything below 55 degrees. Seriously. I think I must have been a bear in a previous life.
Social gatherings during cold weather? Not really my thing. Putting on something other than workout gear, comfy lounge clothes (ok, who am I kidding that's my workout stuff or my pj's!), or flannel pj pants? Not digging that either.
The holidays provide a double edge sword for my little dilemma. On one hand, I love the merriment of Christmas. The lights, the food, the decor, the time with my babies and the Hubs, the food, the cocktails, the memory making.
But, I truly loathe getting out in the craziness in the cold weather. Sigh.
Heartbroken, heart sick. How do you describe the indescribable?
Yesterday I was off in a rush to make some last Christmas purchases for my precious babies. Macho Man was home with the Hubs and the girls were at school safe and sound. About the time I entered the American Girl store some sweet, sweet babies many miles away were facing an inexplicable horror. Pure evil.
The first I heard of it, I was in a dressing room in J Crew. No real details were given.
Then I got home and turned on the television. Immediately, I became glued to the television and the tears began to fall.
How could this happen? How could you look at those precious babies in the face and commit such a heinous crime? Why?
Lovebug had a sleepover to go to (and I obliged even though I wanted to keep her in arm's reach) so we piled the two littles into the car to look at Christmas lights and grab dinner. The everyday. The seemingly ordinary. I kept looking at them at the back seat and tears kept springing to my eyes. I felt thankful, but I also felt guilty for being able to enjoy such a simple pleasure with my children while others were experiencing the unthinkable.
I let Birdie fall asleep with me on the couch last night and then we had a "sleepover" in Mommy's bed. Very early this morning I woke up to those big blue eyes looking at me. Again, I felt thankful...and guilty. For some, this was the first morning that they woke up without their child. As I looked into her eyes, I again wondered "How?" How could someone look an innocent child in the eyes and still be heartless enough to pull the trigger?
I just looked at the victims list. The majority of them are the same age as Birdie. 6. 6 few years. Their parents everything. I let my mind wonder to thoughts that I shouldn't. Christmas presents that will never be opened. What the 13th or 14th victim was thinking as this was all going on. Parents remembering their goodbyes from just that morning. That last hug. The final "I love you".
I think I will have to quit watching the news. It's too overwhelming to comprehend. And again, I feel guilty.
Psalm 34:18: The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.
Lately I have found myself thanking God repeatedly for the same thing over and over.
Thanking him for Macho Man specifically.
After Birdie, I had thought I wanted to have one more baby, but after being off of birth control (tmi?) for quite a while and not being pregnant I started making plans.
Plans for a family of 4...not 5. Traveling more. No more baby toys, furniture, etc. all around the house. Sleeping in on Saturdays. Smaller car.
I made my list and did the whole pro and cons of getting pregnant again. I made a decision. I was done with babies...and I was fine with that in my heart. So much so that when I found out I was pregnant I cried. I mean, cried cried. And it pains my heart to say this, they were not happy tears. I cried for a week. Finally I accepted that I was in deed pregnant, but I wasn't ever over the moon excited. I spent the last 2 weeks of pregnancy very sick and that didn't help things.
Macho Man was born on November 5th and I fell in love with him immediately...BUT...I just felt off. Then the horrible feeling like I was drowning started. I felt like I literally couldn't come up for air and that the weight of everything was just pushing in all around me. Looking back I realize that I was suffering from postpartum depression. It sucked. Macho Man bonded with the Hubs so much quicker and easier than with me. And that made it even worse.
But here we are three years later and I think of how this family would have never in a million years have been complete without my spirited, sweet little boy. His hugs and kisses make my heart melt. He's a Mama's boy that thinks of his Daddy as his best friend.
Another example of how God (and his plans) are always perfect!!