I still have heartburn. I'm still nauseous. I still have food and smell aversions. I still have a little belly that just yesterday when my baby was still alive to me caused someone to smile big and say, "you're showing now!" I still can't sleep and I still have to go to the bathroom constantly. Just yesterday life was laid out in front of me like a plan that made sense. We had steps, home repairs/renovations listed in order, a new van to be purchased, a booster seat for the oldest so the car seats could be handed down and the new baby take over our current baby's infant seat. We had figured out how to pay the midwife.

After yesterday's apt I was going to bring up the maternity clothes. Just two days ago I went down and looked at them through the wall of the clear bin thinking how soon I would be in them.

All of time is standing still. I can't remember what I had planned for this weekend, next week, or the next 6 months to come or anything after that. The entire road before me has been erased with one swipe of the eraser and I'm staring into a blinding fog.

I walked circles around the house today pretending to be carrying on as normal. Except I can't remember what normal is. I loaded and unloaded the dishwasher aimlessly, wiped down the counters more times than I can count. For some reason the laundry is too much. I have a mountain in my living room and I can't even look at it.

I've cried and sobbed until I've gasped for air and now I just feel numb.

Earlier this week I said to my husband, "I can't believe God chose ME again to be the mother of another child." But now death has cursed us. Death's evil wretched fingers have snatched my baby from me.

Thus says the LORD:

“A voice is heard in Ramah,

lamentation and bitter weeping.

Rachel is weeping for her children;

she refuses to be comforted for her children,

because they are no more.”

(Jeremiah 31:15 ESV)