This post isn't pretty.

I am nervous about publishing this post.  I have been using this blog as a journal for my healing process.  Well, my son died and the process isn't always pretty.  This post is honest.  It's one of the ugly sides of grief.  I have no insight or inspiring faith-related comment to include this time.  This is me journaling as if no one would read it, so please try not to judge me.

This summer I know more than 15 women who have delivered babies.  If you are reading this, there is a fair chance you are among them.  I was supposed to be too.  How I wish I had been.  I was supposed to be waddling around life massively pregnant this summer.  But instead my world came crashing down around me when my son died.

If I could have pushed a pause button on the world's pregnancies and deliveries you bet your ass I would have.  Every time I saw or heard of a pregnant woman it punched me in the gut.  Knocked the wind out of me, sometimes literally.  I remember the first time I saw a pregnant woman after Ethan died.  It was the very next day, she was walking down the sidewalk as I drove to the funeral home to make arrangements for my baby to be cremated.  Talk about salt in the wound.  Was it not enough for my last chance at pregnancy to have ended horrifically?  For my son to have died?  But now I have to walk in this world where other people's blessings remind me so vividly of what I want for myself?  Of what I "should have had" for myself?  For 3 full months after Ethan died I should have still been pregnant.  It was a long ass summer.  The lost summer of 2012.

At this point I need to genuinely declare, that I am happy for everyone who is pregnant or has a baby.  That has always been the case, especially for all of you who are part of this Summer of Babies.  I pray you all believe me when I write that I have always wanted the best for you and your families.  Every night I pray for you and your babies to be happy and healthy.  That's the truth, I do.  It's just that seeing the bliss of being pregnant or with a newborn reminds me of what I am missing for myself.  Simultaneously I am rejoicing with you all, for your blessings, while doubling over in pain for myself.  I am jealous...that is one of the most uncomfortable parts of grieving for me.  I don't consider myself to be a jealous person, but if I am being honest, I am jealous that I can't have my baby too.  Again, not one bit of me is wishing ill on others with babies or pregnancies.  I am sorry if reading this honest, ugly part of my grief is uncomfortable for you.  I assure you it is even more so for me.

You see, Ethan was supposed to be your babies' friend.  He was supposed to be a classmate in this Summer of Babies.  In short, it's just not how I had anticipated this summer going, and the adjustment has been (and at times continues to be) immensely painful.  Instead of washing my bottles and bassinet bedding I was giving them away or throwing them out.  When I should have been reading books to my 3 older children of their baby brother/sister joining the family, I was reading We were going to have a baby, but we had an angel instead.  How the hell did this happen to my family?

I can honestly say that this is all getting "better" for me over the last few weeks.  With my due date passing, having such a beautiful experience in spreading Ethan's ashes, and most of my friends having their babies I am feeling far less jealous.  I was even able to walk into Babies 'R Us the other day and smile at some of the things I saw.  Do I wish I had cause for buying something there myself right now?  Absolutely, but I didn't run out of the store as I did in June.

If you made it through this entire post, I pray you don't think I am a bad person.  I promise you I am not. I am just a person in pain.  But the healing has begun, thank the good Lord.  Hopefully I have not scared you off from me or my "journal" with this one.  Thanks for hanging in there with me.