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I am sitting here on my bed tonight, next to my peacefully sleeping 3 year old and my mind is returning to all the nights she has laid beside me, all the kicking, the cooing, the drooling on my arm as I hold her little body. Those moments are surreal now. Time has a funny and unfair way of stealing feelings and memories from us, but not those ones. Those moments never leave you.

My second baby girl is never going to be snuggled next to me in my bed. I will never get to wake up to her coos and movements. The days of her waking me up in the middle of the night ended the day she was born.

The months leading up to her birth time couldn’t go fast enough. I was over being fat. I was over wearing the reminder of the lowest point in my life. I was tired of the anxiety anticipating what was coming. It was exhausting throwing that optimistic smile on day after day, month after month but it had to be done.

​Through that time, as left right and sideways as the emotions were, I felt pretty peaceful in my decision and as the relationship with Christian and Chelsey developed that resolve only grew stronger. So by delivery day I was ready! I kept in together for the labor, delivery and surprisingly the relinquishment.

And then the light.

Turning that light off killed me.
It may sound strange but I loved that whole experience in the hospital! I adored the people there and the special event that took place. I got to bring the most perfect baby girl into the world to join her beautiful family. I watched it all happen and I never wanted to leave that feeling, that room.

Tears are dropping on my keyboard with each word I remember about that night. In 3 months, this is the first time I have cried about this.

The sun was going down on October 6th 2017 and after the papers were signed I started to panic inside that it was over. All of it was over. My fears started to sink in about the life after “the hospital.” I worried that this was the part where I fade out and became just a name in a story.

​The night was gaining the essence of finality as the nurse went through the steps to check me out and I remember wishing they told me I had to stay. Unfortunately I was in great shape to go home. Everyone there was checking up on my emotions and I remained calm and kept repeating myself, “No I am good! I need to get home to Haven anyway.” Which yes, I wanted to hold my sweet Haven but I wasn’t sure I was ready to be reminded there was a life outside and I was all the sudden alone in my body with an emotional mystery ahead of me.

My dad was there to drive me home and so I put a bag on each shoulder and stood staring at the room that held my whole heart. That moment of scanning the room, wishing I could stay forever with that precious baby girl who was no longer physically or legally mine, broke me. I turned, held my hand on the switch for what felt like minutes and finally I turned off the light.

I don’t know how to describe everything that happened after that. My mind was foggy. My sweet dad was so cute walking my limp body out to the car. I watched Christian load the car seat into the car next to ours and my heart ached. We arrived at my quiet house to Haven playing with her toys and her aunt Rachel on the floor. I wanted to be alone so I kept trying to shoo everyone out, especially my dad as I knew he would get me talking when I didn’t want to. Luckily, he knew to hover because as much as I couldn't admit it then, I needed him that night.

I still don’t have a time frame from the time I left the hospital to the time I passed out asleep from sobbing. I talked it all out with my dad for literally hours and then slept really hard! It was way into the night before my dad felt okay to leave.

I can’t say that the reality even hit me until I woke up in my room, no belly, no baby and no freaking idea what to do with myself. In spite of the glazed-over state of mind, I just got up and took my first steps into the first day of the rest of my life. 

What in the world do I do now?