I am thankful. I am grateful.

We finally put up the pictures.

Of my little boy.

I am hesitant to call him an angel, although that is my first thought. Because he is not an angel.  Angels are not the cheribums that don our antique shelves.  That Precious Moments (c) has captured and created so sweetly.  But in the earthly, totally non-biblical, selfish thought pattern, my sweet little angel is now on the walls.

And I find myself visually ignoring him.

Because I am not sure I was ready.

Not sure I was ready for big reminders to stare at me during the morning rush.

Not sure I was ready for the reminders to stare at me during Friday night movie night.

And he sits.

On the shelf.

Above the TV.

So we can see him and "he can see us".

And one part of me wants to take everything down.

Because I am just.  Not.  Ready.

And another part of me want to take him down and hold him and sob.

Because, nearly six months later, it isn't any easier.  It's just.... Different.

There are games your body and brain play on you.

Like when you get the boys out of the car and you FEEL like you are missing one.  And you look back in the car  to find it empty.

There is no baby to get out.

No baby to hold.  To kiss.  To nurse.

There are days your dried up, sagging boobs ache as if you should be nursing.  

But there is no baby.  Nor is there any milk.

There isn't a day that goes by-- a moment that passes-- that he is not on my mind but not in my arms.

My arms, my heart, my body.  Ache.  To hold him.  

And nearly six months later, many have forgotten-- or at least been consumed in their own lives...as we all are.

And I am grateful.  I am thankful.

For Madelyn.  Who remembered in everyday conversation that I just had a baby.

For Jeni O.  Who asked.  Really asked.  How I was.  And listened.

For Keith.  Who loves his family like no other man on the planet.

For patients.  Moms, to be exact.  Who let me snuggle their babies and call it adjusting them.

For daily prayers lifted on our behalf. We know they are there. How else would I miss post partum depression for the first time?

For an office I love having.  That keeps me occupied most days long enough not to crumble.  Most days.

For an office, despite all odds, that is growing. And allowing me to be mommy and doctor simultaneously.

For my sweet little boys.  Who make me smile, laugh, and love.

For Everett.  Who gives me proper perspective and priority.

For Everett.  Who taught me what love is supposed to me. What mothering should look like. 

For Everett. Who broke my heart. 

So it can beat again.

Stronger.

Louder.