my blessed babies
Last night I gave Charlotte a bath and put her bed, something I rarely get to do these days. It was so nice to sit quietly beside the tub while she played. She scooped bubbles into my hands and I showed her how they would 'stretch' between my fingers. She tried it too, but moved her fingers too fast and too far apart to let them stretch out. Such an ordinary moment, but I was so thankful to be there, pat the irridescent bubbles in her hand, and listen to the sound of her breathing. After her bath I laid her down on her blue velour "cloud" blanket and massaged some lotion all over her little toddler body. She's grown so big....*sigh* Even putting a soft fluffy diaper on her bum and zipping up her fleece sleeper felt like a blessing and not a chore.
I was already feeling teary and emotional (thank you, hormones) but I couldn't hold back the tears last night as I thought of my baby that wasn't here to grow into a toddler and play with bubbles in the tub. When Charlotte was born I finally had something solid and real to hold, even though it intensified my grief and longing for Abby. Charlotte satisfied that need that I had to mother a newborn baby - I needed to mother *her* and I needed to care for Abby at the same time so I often prayed as I changed Charlotte's diaper or nursed her to sleep, hoping that Abby would know it was for *her* too. Now as Charlotte is growing up and out of babyhood, that ache is coming back. I'm so thankful that Charlotte is healthy and growing up into a sweet little toddler, but leaving the baby stage behind makes me feel a bit lost. Even though I've had a year and a half with Charlotte as the baby in the house, I still feel like there is something missing. There is a completely other "babyhood" missing [and I typed "abbyhood" first]. Abby's babyhood will always be what is missing, even if we had gone on to have a dozen more babies. That ache and grief will never be satisfied. I guess I didn't expect it to come back when Charlotte was no longer a baby, and in an attempt to make it go away, gives me a baby lust that can't be measured. My heart knows that even a dozen more babies would never fill the void that Abby left, but my body and mind just wants whatever it takes to temporarily ease that ache. A thirst that is never satisfied :-/ I guess this part of my grief journey is learning to live with that thirst, that ache. Even as my children grow up, even as my nieces and nephews begin having their own babies, and probably even when my own daughters give birth, I will feel an ache for Abby.