5 months-

It's crazy that time seems to move so slowly, yet it runs laps right past me. Tomorrow marks 5 months since I had my amazing little guy. He's babbling more, grabbing more, and starting to sit with less and less assistance. Everyday I'm reminded how lucky I am, and in awe of what a wonderful gift he's been.

Jogging along-

Another month down of watching my calories, or two months total. For the last two weeks I've even been jogging too- and it feels great. I have to say one thing though... thank goodness for my inhaler! My asthma is a pain, but I'm slowly rebuilding my lung capacity. Yesterday I jogged 1.25miles and fast walked another quarter of a mile while I cooled down; I only stopped for like a minute to walk and catch my breath while jogging. I know that might not seem like much, but for me it's awesome! Hopefully soon I can plow through the entire 30 minutes of jogging without a break at all. I always use my inhaler, but that's a given. My asthma isn't going to go away, but I can make it more manageable.

I had a setback over the week leading up to Mother's Day. I was eating pretty bad and I forgot to take my Metformin for an entire day. As a result, I gained back 1-2lbs. Yeah, that's not pretty. Ugh. I'm back on track though. I have to add... SODA IS THE DEVIL! I don't drink it generally, since it has so many calories, but I let myself over the week because I was just exhausted. The pick-me-up was nice at the time, but probably not worth it.

So where am I at now?

Since March 17th:
Weight loss: 10lbs
Inches off waist: 2
Inches off hips: 2

Heck yeah! I wish it was going down faster, but I'll take what I can get. My clothes don't really fit any different yet, so it's hard for me to gauge my progress. I think most of the weight off the hips is from things still righting themselves after my c-section, so I don't really know if I can claim that as my own doing.

Oh, and I seem to have lost some from my, ahem... bust.

I'm cool with that.

Mother's Day-

This Mother's Day went better than the last five. I am forever grateful for my little man, V. We went to my favorite park and just enjoyed the scenery. V got to see the geese and ducks up close, and man did that confuse him! Haha. He was very serious about everything, but interested. It was a wonderful afternoon. Really.

But, my thoughts kept wandering. I never celebrated Mother's Day before now; not because I didn't think our other children should count, but because the date served as a painful reminder of everything I'd lost. I was pregnant four times, whether anyone else wants to admit it or not. I have four children, and only one here with me.

People kept wishing me a "Happy first Mother's Day," it made me consider, once again, what makes a mother. Have I been a mother all this time? I like to think so. Everyone in my life acts like only V counts though, and it conflicts me. How I mother them is unarguably different: for V I feed him, carry him, change his diapers, tend to his every need. For the others, my body failed them and I was helpless to prevent their loss. I carry them in my heart, I remember them, love them, but I can never do for them that which I do for V. I will never know them like I've grown to know my V. It's different, but I love them all. I just think that should count for something.

The scars we're left with-

There have been a lot of pregnancy announcements lately. I guess spring has sprung. I have an easy enough time with most of them, coming from people I know who have waited for this with longing. Some of them have been totally unexpected though, leaving me feeling like the wind has been knocked from my lungs and I'm gasping for reason.

I have a child now. People assume (wrongly) that I am over what I've been through; that a child "fixed" my infertility. If only it were that easy. I never went into this thinking my son would be my cure- he was my goal, but I would never put the weight of resolving all my issues on his tiny shoulders. That is for me to carry, and me alone. My husband may help me shoulder the burden, but he has his own to carry from what we've been through. It was never up to anyone else to save me.

So despite having my heart's desire squealing in his swing as I type this, I still ache. I ache for the children I never brought home, the children I may never have, the future that I can't imagine. Will I ever have more children? I don't know. That's hard to think about sometimes. I like to think I will, but I can't say I will for certain. My son gave me hope again, but he did not give me a guarantee. No one can give me that.

Our tree is huge this year, and I can't believe that it's been almost four years since we planted it. Almost four years since we lost the first one. When I was pregnant, people told me to move on, to embrace my son and not to dwell on the ones I lost. I don't understand why they think that remembering the past and embracing the present have to be exclusive. Surely you can remember and honor those who went before, while loving what you have today? It's not like I'm depressed and not coping- grieving is how you cope, it's not a timer where when the buzzer rings it's done. Grief doesn't simply end.

So, yes, I still have a hard time with pregnancy announcements, with huge bellies, with people joking about it, with births, with people talking about plans on having more like it's as easy as all that. I have trouble with people asking us when we're going to have more, like what we've been through doesn't even matter.

And sometimes I look at my son, and I wonder what the others would have looked like. He's such a perfect blending of the both of us, that you can't really pick any feature out and say, "Yes, that's definitely from me," or "That's definitely from you." I wonder if one of them have been a girl. Would she have looked like me? Would one have favored A? Could we have had another boy? Would they have been like V or completely different? Would they have been as serious and independent as V, or would one of them have been a cuddler, a joker, an explorer? I know that everyone else had already stopped thinking about them, that all they ever were for most was a passing thought. That thought hurts the most, because they were so much more to me.

I don't want them to be forgotten.

I am happy. I'm happier than I've ever been in years! But I will never forget, I will never get over it. I don't need to stop thinking about my infertility, my losses, the last 5 years of my life- I'm making peace with them, even if it takes me all my life, but I can't do that if I shove everything in the closet like some people want me to. It doesn't work like that. I'm riddled with invisible scars, constant reminders of what I've been through, and that's okay.