This post is sponsored by Oriental Trading, but, as always, I only share products I genuinely love. All opinions are 100% honest and my own.
When my oldest daughter phased out of the Frozen craze, I was certain I dodged a bullet. To my surprise, my youngest expressed her desire to have a Frozen-themed 3rd birthday party this year. She is crazy for Anna and it would appear that Frozen wasn’t going anywhere.
She had yet to let it go (see what I did there? LOL), and it was my pleasure to plan a party that was just what her little heart desired.
I will never forget the exact moment when the process started. I was back-to-school shopping with my girls, looking for clothes for my up and coming kindergartner. In the midst of this milestone of an occasion, my heart started beating rapidly and I could no longer think straight. One quick trip to the bathroom and I was gripped with fear.
We finished shopping and made it out of the store in record timing. Once we were home I immediately locked myself in the bathroom and began to cry. That night was the worst. The cries turned into deep weeping and agonizing pain, as I begged and pleaded for an alternative explanation before the Lord. I knew that I had just experienced loss in January, but 5 years ago I had a similar scare and that child was heading to school in a matter of days.
The praise and worship music blasted in our bedroom and the tears continued to pour out of my eyes. I tried to allow my faith to be bigger than my fear. I was determined to walk by faith and not by sight even though it seemed an impossible task as the bleeding continued.
Over and over I said these words:
I declare that my baby is fine. I declare that my baby is fine. I declare that my baby is fine.
In Jesus’ Name.
I held onto hope as much as I possibly could. I wavered and crumbled and picked myself up time and time again. Those 5 days were the longest. Finally it stopped. I felt a sense of relief but it didn’t last. So what did this mean? I needed confirmation.
Two negative tests and an ultrasound later, I think I heard my heart actually breaking.
It happened again. I miscarried again. And I’m so angry about it.
My youngest daughter is turning 3 in September, and she is not yet potty trained. This is certainly not the end of the world, but it is a far departure from what I originally “planned”.
Like her older sister, she began showing interest in the potty right after she turned two. Without even realizing it, I had mapped out the same timeline in my head that I used for her big sissy. It seemed like we were heading in that direction too, until Lily suddenly lost interest.
At this point in time my initial inclination was to get frustrated and annoyed (I’m being honest). I wanted to get this milestone behind me, and according to the members of the “they society”, they all said it would be a simpler process being that she was my second child and a girl. *Please DO note the sarcasm* haha.
But no sooner than I felt the urge to get bothered, I decided to let it go. I knew it would happen when it happened and here are my three reasons why that’s not a bad thing at all!