Becoming a Mom Again: A Glimpse into the Tension

In just under four months I am due with our healthy second-born - a baby girl.

The joy that surrounds that statement fills my soul and gives me great anticipation and excitement.  My shoulders feel as though the weight I've carried is lighter, and I get to imagine her sweet personality growing up and seeing the world.

I have often sat down and poured out my thoughts and feelings about this second pregnancy into unpublished blog posts - all the downs and ups and downs again - only to feel that maybe they were too private of emotions to be sharing publicly through it all. Wondering if anything I write would ever make my sweet daughter question my excitement and joy for her.

The truth is, I'm thrilled for her.  I'm so thankful.  And yet, in God's faithfulness, He's shown me again through this pregnancy that the truths I remember imprinting in my heart before, in my pregnancy with Jacob - things like: motherhood (a healthy baby) is not the end goal of my life and my circumstances do not define my identity - they're still true. In some ways, that's even more painful.  Because as much as I wish it were so at times, having a healthy baby doesn't actually fix or complete the brokenness of my heart.

My fear in sharing our news with people that this baby is healthy is that they'll see our baby girl as a the "rainbow" after the storm, the solution to all my problems, or maybe as if I'm having my first.  But as much as I fear this from others, deep down, I have often feared that for myself as well.

The night that we heard the words, "There is no neural tube defect present - her brain looks perfect,"  I sobbed on my bed, still shocked over the concept of healthy, wondering aloud to John-Mark - am I making this baby a replacement of Jacob?  And is that what everyone else will think, too?  And while I think some of that specific emotional response to bringing a healthy baby girl in the world, and some of those dozens of other questions that spilled out of my mouth that night, were normal for a second-time mom, some of my questions and tears were rooted so deeply in my grief over Jacob that it's taken me a month and a half to even go back to them, to think about them, to process them, even to go the Lord and some friends with them. I've just had to let them sink in.

The loneliness of my grief has not subsided with this baby's life.  And in some ways, it's grown.

I don't think I'll ever feel complete this side of heaven.  But I also think that maybe that's how it's supposed to be.I've noticed that deep in my heart, there is still the ugliness of comparison and desire for what other people have.  The rest of the world didn't stop when Jacob died, even though ours did.  So while I am, in some ways, increasingly more confident in the fact that I am bringing my second child into the world - meaning, not a new mom - I am also increasingly humbled by having to ask questions that I feel like I should already know.  And I'm painfully aware that most of those questions go to moms with children much younger than mine.

Sure, I have experience as a mother in my back pocket for things that mattered greatly for Jacob's life here on earth, and after he died, and Lord-willing, I'll never need to fall back on that experience again.  But to outsiders, my experience so far as a mom doesn't make me look like an experienced mom.  In many ways, I assume the random stranger or acquaintance, even some friends, see me as a new mom, pregnant with my first child.  Every part of me wants to scream that I'm not.

The other day, I got asked for the first time if this was our first baby.  And confidently, with a smile, I got to respond, no, we have a son, also.  She didn't ask follow-up questions about him, where he was at the moment, or anything like that, and it was a delight to my soul.  But then I had to smile and nod through comments about me knowing what I was doing this time around... not wanting to share that, honestly, some of this is all new to me.  I really don't have any clue what it's like to do most normal things that I will be doing to care for this baby girl.  Humbling. And painful.

To be honest, I don't want any of it to feel painful. Shouldn't this be all joy?

I find myself again in the place where I have been the past two years in my grief.  Just wanting the pain to go away.  Wishing away time, wishing that things were not like this.  But the reality is, my house is quiet, and my oldest baby boy, Jacob, will never wear a shirt that says, I'm the big brother!  He is the big brother, and he always will be, but there are some things that we simply will not get to experience with him.  I will never have a complete family photo.  I will stumble for years through answering questions about my children and my family, always feeling a little bit of awkwardness or small pangs of loss when I meet a new person, wondering when they're going to ask something or fearing what things they won't.

The pain of our grief is still very much present.  Even in the midst of such joy.Joy that our baby girl is healthy.Joy that our baby girl is our second child.Joy that I already am a mom.  And I do know much of what that means.

When I walk into the room that will become our baby girl's nursery, I remember that it's not about the things that fill it that make me a mom.  When I think about her growing up celebrating her big brother's life and hearing all about him on a regular basis, I remember that she gets to learn from him that a life is made up of more than just the minutes and that there is eternity written in our hearts.  When I get overwhelmed with the plethora of decisions that await me, I remember that my identity does not lie in my children's lives, and I'm not really in control, anyway.  When I ache for my daughter to have her big brother to tease her and to protect her, I remember that my heart has an immense capacity to love and that those aches are just tangible proof of it all.  When I think ahead to what her birth will be like, I remember that I've done this before, and I can do it again.  When I fear and when I'm anxious and when I have too many questions with not enough answers, I remember that God was with me and He is with me and He will be with me through it all.

Being Jacob's mom has taught me that there is so much more to motherhood than material things and tasks on a never-ending to-do list and the perfect social media pictures.  Motherhood is about the love that I have for my children, the dying to myself daily, the necessity of leaning on Jesus because I'll never be able to do it all. And so much more.

Motherhood can be joy and grief at the same time.

And I get to do it again.

I count it a privilege and an honor that I have the gift of being able to be called mom by a second child.

There may be pain that comes with it, but every moment of time is different.  Every story is different.  Every life is different.  There will always be painful things and joyful things.  And that is good.

Motherhood. In the words of The Nester, in a totally different context than what she is famous for saying this about... it doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful.