Fresh home from the hospital, I decided to clear the shelf so I could put Christmas books out. My three-year-old pulled a favorite out. She’s the one going around telling strangers, “Sloane is dead and now she can’t sleep in my bed.” My nine-year-old felt uncomfortable, but I told her, “We still love babies here.”
After ICU, they wheeled me into the Postnatal Ward, and I watched the nurses scrub the room of any trace of babies — flipped the room sign, removed magazines, rolled away the empty bassinet, etc. But I still heard babies crying throughout the night and families bringing laughter on their visits. One of my family members was adamant that I request a transfer elsewhere, but I stayed.
Did I cry? Of course. But I also felt what I always feel — a gentle pull toward any infant in the room. I still love babies. I’m going to snuggle and sweet talk every baby in my homeschool group. Is it going to remind me of Sloane? Yes. And, I may tear up and not want to give your baby back, but I’m still going to love babies. I don’t want to be protected from them. My favorite thing is the rolling cry of a newborn who is hungry. Pure innocence and fragility.
If I shut out the things that hurt, I’m not healing. Joy is hidden all around us, and I don't want to miss an instant of it. That’s what I believe about my own personal journey. I’m a head-first-into-emotions type of person. So, bring on the babies💛
