Mother's Day and Rainbows

Most people don't realize that Mother's Day can be a very difficult day for many people. Those who have lost their mother. Those who have lost their child(ren). Those who desperately long to be a mother, but can't for whatever reason.

I've never had to face Mother's Day without a living child, but it's still a bittersweet day for me. I would be lying if I said this year wasn't a little different than the last several. This year I was carrying the hope of these two sweet boys with me. I even managed to make it through the baby dedication without a tear, even though two of the babies being dedicated were born within weeks of Quinn's due date. I'm so incredibly thankful and in awe of the way God has worked things out, but I still carry the weight of everything I've been through (and I always will.) I still miss the babies I never got to meet. Where I am now is such a strange place to be. I'm so incredibly thankful for the babies I'm carrying now, and I know that I wouldn't have them if we hadn't lost Peyton, Avery, Kendall, and Quinn.

My amazing husband gave me a great new perspective that I hadn't really thought of before. We always said we wanted three children. If miscarriage and infertility had not been part of our journey, we probably would have had those three children and it probably would have been great. But as it stands, we have seven. Seven beautiful children, and though we never got to hold four of them, we can cling to the promise that we get to spend eternity with them. I'm so thankful for that, and although this journey has not been easy, I wouldn't change a single step. I'm just as thankful for the existence of my angel babies as I am for my rainbow babies.

The term "rainbow baby" is pretty commonly used in the loss community when referring to babies who are born after loss. I think the meaning behind the term is really beautiful and I want to share that. This explains it way better than I ever could:

The rainbow doesn't negate the storm. Just because I'm pregnant now, doesn't mean I'm "all better." I fully admit that things are different now. The joy and hope overshadow the grief and sorrow I walked in for so long, but these babies don't replace the babies I've lost. They're just my rainbows after the storm.