I miss him.

I should be 22 weeks tomorrow. I should be feeling my little boy move and kick and do somersaults in my belly. I should be rearranging Jack's room to make space for his new brother's things. I should be worrying about how I'm going to handle three instead of two. I should be moody and hormonal and crazy. I should be sharing all of my pregnancy experiences with all of my friends and family members who are pregnant right now. I should be picking out baby names. I should be getting bigger and rounder and wondering if my maternity clothes are really going to make it until July 6th. I should still have a stupid ticker on my sidebar, counting down the days. I should be reading stupid articles on Baby Center about fetal development. I should be freaking out over all the little things that could go wrong, but most likely won't. I should be driving the 3 hours to Utah to visit with my midwives every month. I should be pulling all of the old baby clothes and blankets and toys and such out of storage and washing them and getting them ready to use again. I should be shopping for a minivan or SUV to fit 3 car seats and looking for someone to take my Stratus. I should be placing my kids' hand on my belly hoping that they'll feel that little life inside wiggling around and helping them to comprehend how amazing this little spirit is. I should be sweating even though it's in the 30's outside. I should be getting the last few glimpses before my toes disappear for a few more months. I should have strangers randomly touching my belly inappropriately. I should be filled with so much joy knowing that in just a few short months I'll be holding that sweet newborn boy in my arms and smelling that yummy, replicable baby smell.

But I'm doing none of those things. And although I'm doing so much better and the pain has dulled and the waves come less frequently, I don't want to pretend that it still doesn't sting. That every other woman's pregnancy related news isn't just a swift kick in my gut. I still ache for a baby, my baby.

I worry as certain dates draw near. One week out was hard. One month out was harder. 20 weeks, knowing we'd be seeing our little guy in an ultrasound video/pictures was heartbreaking. Starting my period was wonderful and awful. At first it meant my body was getting back to normal and we'd be able to try again soon. And then the next moment it was a slap in the face, laughing at me and screaming that I was no longer pregnant. As if I had forgotten.

I realized today that it's March. Spring officially comes in just a few weeks. I am looking forward to Spring. The warmth, the new growth. But Spring promises Summer. A few months will go by so quickly! And suddenly it will be July 6th. And I won't be having a baby. Will I even be pregnant again at that point? Or will I still have this empty ache inside of me?

I don't feel this way most days. Most days I have too much else to focus on to let these thoughts surface. Most days I have a clear understanding of why this happened. I realize that Heavenly Father has a plan for me. I realize that He knows better what I need. Obviously right now wasn't the right time for our little family to grow.

But today I just miss him and everything he meant to me. Today I'm just a little sad again.