Warning: Even though this was going to be a happy post, there are some emotional issues included. Continue reading if you don't mind awkward.
Since we had already outgrown our current home a while ago, once we found out I was pregnant, we didn't really hesitate to start home shopping again -- even though it's probably still not the best time to buy.
We found a home that we already fell in love with the floorplan last year, except this one has a beautiful pool as well! After a few nerveracking days, we heard that they accepted our offer, so the move is on!
My problem with this is leaving our current home.
We both LOVE our back yard and will miss it -- even if the new one is just as nice as our current yard, if not nicer, in different ways.
I also am having a hard time letting go of Abby's room. Last night Marti woke me up and we started talking about things. He got me thinking about Abby's room and all that I put into it (emotionally) through the years of preparing it and the times of sitting alone, staring at those walls knowing I had just lost a(nother) baby and wondering if anyone would ever live in that room. It's not just Abby's room to me. It is a room full of hope and shattered dreams. It is a room of a wonderful dream finally realized. I cried at the thought of either us or someone else painting over all that I did in that room -- all that I love about that room. While they are not all happy memories in that room, in a sense, those memories are all that I have left of what could have been and I cringe at the thought of letting go.
And, while I know we could not have had Abby or this one if the others had made it to term, I am still sad for the others that are not with me - both before and after her arrival. Even with all the joy of having her to cuddle and another safely on the way, it does not erase the pain of loss from before.
Hopefully we don't have to paint the room as part of our move out and I can maybe ease myself away from it gently. Hopefully the real joy of moving into the new house (as opposed to the anticipated joy we feel now) is enough to get me over it so I can let go. I guess part of my problem is that it is the only physical representation of what I miss. When others lose family, they have cemetaries or even urns of ashes to go to on rough days. When you miscarry as early as I always did, you have nothing but the emptiness it leaves you with. I guess I am sentimental enough to need that physical representation until the pain goes away - and I don't know if that day will ever really come.
Any suggestions to get me over this bump in the road?
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