I sit here, thinking about what to write. I haven't written for so long and right now, crazy enough, its 2:20 a.m. As my eyes wouldn't fall asleep, of course my girly brain wandered and tripped on thoughts of Arie. It's amazing how ginormous thoughts get when we're tired! I've just cried for a while, then tried to go to sleep, then tried to distract myself by doing things on the computer. For some reason, I just can't sleep.

My thoughts have recently wandered to what might it be like now for us if Arie was here. She'd be sitting up stronger now and able to look at us with acknowledgement. She'd be able to smile at us with her cute little lips and snuggle in for sleep time. The crib would have had to be lowered because she could probably roll herself out of it at the height we currently have it. I would be hoping to share her with all the mommies in playgroup and all my friends. Her little cry would most likely become somewhat tiresome or annoying by now and Mike and I would be playing "it's your turn" at all times. She would have had a few check ups that said she was crazy tall for her age--no wonder, she's got a few tall genes in her swimming pool.

Grandma and Grandpa would be dying each week to know how she was and what she was up to. Her name would be cherished and pronounced right by now, cause it's a bit of a hard one until you get it down. I'm sure they would call to coax us over so they could play with the little tyke and give mommy and daddy a break to actually sleep.

She'd be really loved.

Well, she is really loved. It's just not the way it should be. And although our faith has gotten stronger through this mayhem, I still struggle with so many questions . . . how come God took her? Was it my fault (less on the nutritional/did I miss something side, and more on the life/personal sin side)? I hope she didn't hurt. Is she with my Grandparents?

It's really hard to believe that God loves me as much as He says He does, but I have to keep my mind strong and choose to believe His word and truth, rather than my thoughts. That's quite a battlefield sometimes. And battlefields at 2:30 in the morning become more like wars because of the exhaustion!

. . . On the other hand, being up this late has its advantages. We're pretty assured that we won't get interrupted, no one will be calling, or emailing (well maybe those night owls), and so we can focus! Right now, I've pretty much caught up on checking out a new financial program using Mr. Dave Ramsey's grandma principles called Mvelopes (kinda cool for the techi in you) and done some other work that needed to be done. All in all, I'm hoping that writing accomplishes two things right now. The ability to update my post, and the necessity of droning off to sleep (which is apparently a very bad idea in front of bright screens!).

Hi-ho,Hi-ho, it's off to sleep I go. I'll lay in bed, and wake at dawn, Hi-ho, Hi-ho, Hi-ho, Hi-ho.

Priorities

Priorities are interesting. There are those we are aware of, and those we don't even know we have; those we act out as habit, and those we must put our minds to.

For the most part, our days are built out of habit. Waking up, doing the dishes, going to work, cleaning the house, and the like. For me, this list is quite short. Brushing my teeth, making the bed, and, right now, looking for jobs. Sometimes, we are engrossed in our habits so much that they harm us without even knowing it. These tiny habits eventually turn in to a lifestyle.

Then, there are the priorities that we conciously want. For most of us - specially with the New Year approaching - these look more like losing the weight, making more money, and generally, achieving something. I definitely fall in to the category of "lose the weight". However, these consious priorities all dwindle down to motivation, whereas habitual priorities don't.

Motivation in so important in that one magical, or daunting moment when we know that we have to make a choice. Will we choose to motivate ourselves to stick to our priority, or not? Will we follow what we know is good for us, or ditch it for some other source of fleeting pleasure? When what we've set our sites on is either easy, or exciting, motivation is easy to come by. But what happens to us when our sites are set on something that takes work to accomplish? What happens when there is a deep heart pang that urgently resists what we know is good? Although we know that we can do anything we want, and we know that all of it isn't that beneficial (I Cor. 6:12 and 10:23), what do our actions suggest? Are we true to "not being mastered" as Paul suggests, or do we faulter?

My generation is so entitled that most of us just give up (if we even tried), and give in to the now (a conversation I had with my friend about finances and saving for things is a good example). Quite frankly, I find it to be quite a battle to resist the "now" and go for the "later". Somewhere in our "growing up DNA", we have been programmed to ditch priorities and just have . . . Have the big toys, go for the exciting trip, ditch the values becuase what's in front of me is just "better".

But see, for me, this entire entry seems messed up! It's hard for me. I have a daughter . . . I have a daughter. A daughter that didn't live very long, but was still and will remain, part of our family. As a mother, how do I make her a priority? Children are always priorities! All of the "other mothers" have it easy. They become accustomed to habitual priorities becuase they have to go shopping with their kids, make the meals, clean up after them . . . just be a mom. But for me, Arie can't be part of my habitual priorities because I can't take care of her. (But can I care for her?) I will never have the blessing of teaching her truths about our world.

So that only leaves concious priorities. But then again, how is she a concious priority? I'm living my life, but she's not here. Yes, we strive for things that "aren't here", like falling in love again, but how do you pursue a lost child? It's really a contained incident that only has emotional ramifications. My tears are real, but she's not here. The weight I have to lose is real, but she almost isn't. I keep convincing myself that I actually do have a daughter and that I was actually pregnant. This is so hard. My heart wants Arie to be a priority, and so does my body . . . still. But she's just not here!

I guess I just live my life, adjusting to my new "normal" without her. How can she be a priority? I don't know . . . I just don't know.

With all of this silent turmoil, I must strive to continue making my husband a priority. He still works, bikes, needs food, and love. He still encounters "those days" at work and has a heartbeat. To make him a priority is of utmost importance to my heart. He means so much to me and if I choose, my actions could be "mastered" by what is easier instead of what is "beneficial".

Everything comes down to choice. Eve ate the apple and that was her choice. Every morning we wake up and have . . . choice. What will you do with yours? Hold it close and don't take it for granted for it quite literally could make the difference between life and death.

Arie's Video

Finally, I have completed Arie's video! It has been very hard to finish and the computer didn't help at all. First the videos had to be cropped, then the pictures were too large. But, when I moved and cropped, the sound would get all chunked up :( In the end, she looks beautiful with friends and family.

I must say a huge thank you to lots of people . . . Emma, our photographer and friend, was gracious enough to take Arie's pictures, edit them, and get them back to us. She has been wonderful throughout this entire process and she actually introduced me to her husband as Arie's mother. It was heart-melting to just hear those words. I don't get to be a mommy to often, so moments like these touch my heart so deeply.

I also have to thank all of you, my friends and family, who have been so supportive of us. When at the hospital, we were never alone unless we asked. You were on the floor, hard chairs, hard benches (otherwise known to the hospital as "beds"), and surrounding my bed. Phone calls I didn't want to make were taken care of, and I could feel all of your love. I got lots of hugs and sympathy. Your flowers, cards, and sentiments all helped cushion the blow. Without you, Mike and I would be in a completely different place.

Although nothing can take away the pain of losing our baby girl, God has shown us so much. Whether or not you know it, you have all been part of our growth and memories.

On a different note, there are a couple pictures and moments that touched me during our stay at the hospital.

The most defining for me was when my dad hugged me . . . long, and more than once. In the past, he has been at a distance and I don't blame him. He lived in a house with three crazy chicks for 20+ years! That's gotta drive a man nuts :) But in this moment, he met me on a deep, deep level and reached out to me. I love him for that.

That weekend was a ball of mess. In the video a woman named Susan shows up a few times. We had met at church, , I think, all of once to talk about baby rooms and the excitement. I really didn't know her at the time, but she has such a caring heart that she showed up in my hour of need. Her compassion and love was intense and real. She has since become a good friend and we've shared tears and laughter.

Really, there are gazillions of stories to tell, but not enough time to get them all out. So much happened that weekend--some of which I don't even know yet. Just believe that ALL of you have made a difference . . . yup, believe it or not, even you nurses!

I love all of you for everything you have helped Mike and I with and hope that the future will bring siblings for our baby girl.

Just Another Tuesday

As I sat in our small group, I realized that today was over and Mike was in Long Beach. My stomach groweled. I spaced out, and although people talked, I glazed into Arie-land.

It's hard to undrstand and wrap my mind around her being gone. I do believe that she was here for a short time, but in another way, I feel that she wasn't here at all. I felt her kick, but I never swaddled her. I could see her legs and arms move, but never outside of me. It all seems so . . . weird. As though the last year didn't happen. Kind of like it was a real dream.

For the time she was alive, I dreampt of holding her, tickling her little toes, kissing her nose, and loving her all her life. I didn't realize, or even imagine, that I would be taking her home in a 5 inch marble urn. My thoughts of saving her first moments in pictures, and documenting her life on film are gone. I never got to share our excitement with our parents. We have video, but I was never able to share it with them.

My heart aches. It is now almost 3 months after that fateful day, and I still crumble. There are days I wake up and my cheeks are saturated with tears. No trigger. No warning. Just tears.

There is something so deep within me that yearns to hold her again. The moments I did, I was in such a different place. It scares me to grasp that I don't remember what it was like to hold her. One of my good friends blessed me with a Build-A-Bear that she filled with flaxseed to Arie's meager 5 lb. weight. The closest I get to holding my coveted daughter is snuggling up to a stuffed animal. Right now, all the love that should be pouring in to grimmacing through diapers, trying to get enough sleep, and planning how to visit friends around nap time, all vanishes into thin air. There is nowhere for my love to rest.

As the world moves on, my world circles. Everyone gets to continue their life, with their normal. I silently scream inside knowing that Arie will never again be here. I don't get to have "normal". However, I do hope for the day I get to see her again, smiling in the arms of her Daddy and running toward me. I hope for the day my tears are of joy and I hear "mommy" from her mouth.


I miss her. I miss my baby girl.