Tonight we started getting Jackson’s room ready for him. Over the past week Ava & I have been spending quite a lot of time in his room playing and talking about how excited we are for him to come. Ava brings her baby dolls into the room and loves to dress them up in a few of the outfits that we have picked up along the way for Jackson. She cuddles them up in blankets or “cozies” as she calls them. Her new favorite thing is to rock her baby named Jackson to sleep in the rocking chair we moved into his room. She finally asked about a bed for Jackson today so as soon as Chris got home we got right to assembling the crib.
Every step of the way has such mixed emotions for us. On one hand the joy we feel as we think about bringing him home is overwhelming because we were told that it was highly unlikely that we would ever be able to do so. On the other hand still being faced with a very difficult and intricate heart complication, there is still the reality that we may never bring him home. With each step we take closer the anticipation builds. One minute I feel confident that Jackson will defy science and be with us and the next minute I feel the weight of what could still be the painful truth of losing him.
As we set up his crib Ava hurried around the room handing Chris all the screws and trying her best to help in every way. I kept thinking, “Lord, am I protecting her from what could be? Am I guarding her heart from what the outcome could be?” It’s so hard to find the right answer to these questions. I want to feel all the same joy as other expectant parents as they prepare for a new baby. I want the giddy anticipation of what he will look like and when he will come. Some moments God is gracious enough to allow me to block out our circumstances and just feel excited about Jackson. For that I am extremely thankful.
I want to embrace the miracle at hand. The fact that every day a baby is growing inside of me is an absolute miracle. The fact that his heart still beats even though basically all of his “plumbing” is so incredibly incorrect that it has amazingly corrected itself is a miracle. So as I sat in the rocking chair tonight next to his newly decorated crib I thought to myself, “How blessed am I as a mother to experience firsthand a miracle each and every day. How wonderful is it that when I walked away from terminating that I allowed my son the chance to come home.” That is what we have. A possible life with him is better than sitting every day assuming that we never will. So with great joy I turned off his lights in his room, took one last look, and smiled. Someday….
Ava working away at assembling the crib.