We've just spent the evening with our pregnant neighbours. It's late and I just capped off the night with a little tipple of Bailey's Irish Cream, which might not have been the greatest idea.
I'm tired, a tiny bit tipsy and very sad.
The ache inside me to be pregnant again is so enormous it's just about killing me tonight. It's mixing in with the ache to have Thomas back and the dull ache of the sorrow that's always there - and this lethal concoction it's killing me, I swear.
Sometimes this life is so huge it's almost unbearable.
We had a great night. It was really nice to talk baby talk while the boys played ping pong downstairs. A lot of people are afraid of us - afraid we'll crumble under the weight of their joy. But not our neigbours. They're wonderful - and so respectful of our pain, and of the little life we lost.
It was wonderful to be able to share pregnancy war stories with this soon-to-be new Mom, and it was really nice to be able to give her advice and to reassure her when she needed it (she's terrified of having to have a C-section). It makes me feel like a Mother when someone lets me talk about Thomas, and not just about the sorrow of losing him, but the joy of having him for as long as we did.
But it's a double edged sword. The pain returns when the reminiscing is over and I find all I'm left with is memories and an empty womb.
I want to be pregnant again and I just don't know why God doesn't seem to want that too.
I'm tired. Just tired.