The Sorting Hat...

It's 6:00 am on Sunday. David has just stumbled into the office asking what in the heck I'm up to--he's adorable when he's like this. We're not much for drinking (although I do like a good glass of wine); I've never seen him drunk or hungover. I imagine it's similar to how he just walked into this room, and it's hilarious. I've sent him back to bed (I am, after all, used to getting up for work at 4:00 am), and now I'm alone with my thoughts...

I have a Facebook friend who makes a lot of Hobbit references. My dad also loves all of those books; sadly, that's a bonding experience we will never have. Try as I may, I just don't like Tolkien (sorry, Dad). However, I love the Harry Potter books/movies. So I will unashamedly make a lot of HP references, and since I am writing this blog, it is clearly my perogative. :)
I love the concept of the Sorting Hat: Something comes along in the midst of your confusion and fear, and tells you EXACTLY where you're supposed to be. Can I get one of those?  'Cause let me tell you, if I had a Sorting Hat, that sucker would NEVER leave my noggin. The Holy Spirit does the same thing, I know--but that whole "audible voice" thing really piques my interest. Hearing the voice of God in the midst of the battlefield can be very hard to do--but you have to hear your General/Captain/Commander-In-Chief, right? It's hard to get quiet when the battle is raging.
But here I am.
Yesterday, we went to my parents' house to do a Sorting of our own. 6 years ago, Hannah's things were sorted out...things that were deemed "special" were kept, as were things that were necessary (the flamingo onesie...a stroller...the nursery decorations)...other things were given away in heaps.
I have no memory of this process, and I don't know why. I don't remember packaging them up, or taking them to the attic. I don't know where things went, or who got what...It never bothered me until yesterday. Mom says it's for the best, but it nags at me--where did my brain go? Going through some of these things was almost like going through a stranger's storage unit. But...going through some of those things was like open-heart surgery (minus the anesthetic). I'm not going to lie or make it sound pretty:
It hurt.
I kept a pretty good stiff, upper lip--after all, Choleric Mom was watching, and she never misses a chance to attempt to counter my sniffles with a reminder that Hannah is in Heaven. That actually makes me mad sometimes--can't you just let me cry, and get it out of my system? Stop trying to give me band-aids--I need to bleed this out! But then I look at it from her perspective--She's seen me cry enough over this.
So I waited until it was just David, me, and the dog...and for a few minutes, let it rip.
This child will be wearing clothes that were not purchased for them. Things were bought for someone else--someone that didn't have the chance to grow up, that I didn't have the chance to raise. I'm not being a brat here--it's not like I can or would, just burn everything and go buy all new. That would be stupid, impractical, and selfish. I have a pretty good sense of reuse/recycle. Even if Hannah would have had the chance to use or wear all of the stuff that I've stored, I'd still be reusing it, so that part makes no difference. It's the heart behind it--We had picked out little things just for her.  Certain toys were given to me at a shower that I never got to go to--for her.
This child will not know that their stuffed monkey was not originally intended for them. I do. Will I think that, every time I see the darn monkey? Of course not. And I think that most of these feelings will fade pretty quickly--after all, it's the first time I've seen monkeys and strollers and Lord-knows-what in 6 years. It was a bit of a shock. I think I'm still processing it all.
Walking through the living room this morning, seeing the bags of stuff that we brought home...I immediately turned around and walked out. I actually think it's the amount of work that will be involved in finding places to put the stuff, than the stuff itself--I don't want to think about the mess we have to work through! :) The nursery is a disaster--it's been extra closet space for the past 5 years, and we have no idea where to begin organizing it. (If I wasn't me, I'd call me for help. But since I am me, my "great organizing solution" is to run, hide, and to try not to think about it. Too bad I don't have a basement!!!:)
I'm okay, really. I"m not going to say I was "super prayed-up" or "filled with faith" to get through this--I think I was in more of a state of "git-er'-done." Regardless of where I was, though, I can say that it felt like there was peace instead of panic in The Sort. We got it done, and now I can finally start a Baby Registry for this little one.
Tomorrow, we make another attempt to find out what we're having. We're having our Anatomy US done, and I will make my first cardiologist's visit for this pregnancy. I hope it's my ONLY cardiologist's visit. Ultrasounds make me terribly nervous--half the time, I'm afraid to look at the screen. My friends at work think I'm crazy for this-but they don't know what I've been through. When you've had so much hope, and so much loss, even when it's irrational you still fear going through it again. You try to counter it with faith, but it sneaks in. I'm thankful there are "blockers" (Quidditch reference!) who stop my fear-sidetracks with a quick word or prayer (David's great at that!). And I don't know if you've ever had an echo done...but they're kinda painful for me. Being "chesty", plus having so much scar tissue from previous surgeries, means that the technician has to push really hard on my chest. Add pregnancy to that, and I'm NOT looking forward to this echo!  Tomorrow I will be poked, prodded, and probably stabbed, all for an end result of what I hope is PERFECT. Mom will be spending the day at the hospital with me, thank God...she may be a good ol' choleric, but I need her.  I think she needs to check on me, too. She won't admit it, but certain things she's said make me realize that she has her own fears with this pregnancy. She is my mom, after all. <3 p="p">I'm nervous about tomorrow...excited...I hope I can come back and tell you more about this baby...
Reusing things that were meant for Hannah means that I can finally put the things that were given or bought with so much love, to good use. It's actually fulfilling a hope, although I had to go through a bit of a dark cloud to figure that out. Seeing this child use the handmade blankets...the nursery decor that my mother lovingly made...even the flamingo onesie (provided this is a girl)...I think it will feel 100% right. It's just taken me a day to put some perspective on it. I'm super-thankful that Mom and David were there to help, and to "block" me from dwelling on the negative.
After a bloody good cry in the car on the way home, David was kind enough to take me for my favorite sno-cone (S&Js, Arnold, MO!!! Wedding Cake with whipped cream--GET ONE!), and we had a good talk. Well, I talked, and he listened. He's getting better at letting me riff for a while, and then putting in his two cents. He's a pretty sharp dude, That Guy I Married. I'm glad he picked me.
The Sort could have gone so much worse...I'm so thankful that it didn't, and that we were smart enough to do it together. We were exhausted after all of it, and my house is a wreck, but it's done. Now I really do feel like I can start preparing for C-Rex. :)
There was peace in the battlefield, peace that I hadn't even remembered to pray for. I think it's more than possible that a Facebook post I did early in the morning may have put out the red flag to my friends and family that we needed prayer, and maybe they delivered? Because it went better than I'd hoped. So if you prayed, thank you. You helped my family stay sane through a tough day!
Like I said online--God is bigger. Hope is brighter. And Life is beautiful...
I'm looking forward to it.