I'm MAD...

"How are you doing?" They all ask with concerned eyes. 

"I'm ok." "Pretty good." "Getting better." 

Those responses frequently leave my mouth as if to convince the rest of my face to stay strong. This is not the place to break down. There's not time for a detailed answer. Don't burden them. 

But today, here's my answer...

"I AM MAD." 

I am mad that my precious little boy is no longer growing inside of me.

I am mad that I will not get to feel his big 34 week kicks, even the ones that hurt.

I am mad that I will not get to meet him and show him the world. 

I am mad that I will not hear him cry.

I am mad that my belly has stopped growing. 

I am mad that I don't get to wear the maternity jeans I just finally bought two weeks ago.

I am mad that I'm no longer pregnant with close friends and family.

I am mad that my daughter is no longer a big sister.

I am mad that she will not have a brother two years younger like I had.

I am mad that I have stopped getting her ready for our new baby.

I am mad that our children will not be spaced out like we wanted. 

I am mad that our children will not be the same ages as some close friends and cousins.

I am mad that all of our parents lost a grandchild.

I am mad that God gave me EXACTLY what I wanted and hoped and prayed for and then allowed it to all be taken away. More than not being pregnant feels like a nightmare I want to wake up from, the fact that I was pregnant feels like the most amazing dream I have woken up from. 

I knew this time would come...The anger, frustration, and confusion. I don't get it. I may never understand. I'm mad the way my daughter is mad when I've said "No" to having her 3rd package of Scooby Doo fruit snacks in two hours. I want to fall flat on my face, kick and scream, and pound the ground with my fists. I want to cry out of disbelief that God would allow this. 

But I know God can handle this...my complaining and whining, even my anger towards Him. 

You see, when I don't give my daughter the fruit snacks she so desperately wants, it's for her own good. I try to tell her that, but it's hard to get through to her mid-fit. And although she may not feel loved or even feel like she's being punished after hearing the words "No", that's not the case at all. I love her the same whether she's flat on the floor crying or giving me eskimo kisses with her little button nose. I'm not withholding the treat from her for any reason other than to protect her because I know what's good for her. Plus, if I always gave her exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it, what would she learn?

Upon writing this in an attempt to blow off some steam, I had no idea I was about to compare the loss of my son to Scooby Doo fruit snacks. But God speaks to me in mysterious ways. I guess He's trying to tell me something. For now, I'll just work on keeping my limbs from angrily flailing and try to process through this muck. 

At least I know He's with me every step of the way.