Yesterday I went to bed at 11 in the morning and didn’t get up until this morning at 3.

Granted, I woke up every few hours or so. But it was a sick day; I threw up several times and had a screaming headache–and kept throwing up the Tylenol. The only thing I could bear was lying still in a dark and quiet room. So I did.

Better today; by the afternoon I was eating normally again. Felt like death warmed over all morning though. It’s hard to deal with. I remember how awful I felt those first few months with you–I remember feeling just as dreary and miserable, even though I wasn’t nearly as sick then as I am now.

We made our first demonstration of faith in this new baby. We framed the baby-like blob in the ultrasound picture and put it out in the living room. I can look up from where I’m typing and see it. I don’t look at it often; it’s too scary. Admitting there’s a baby in there means admitting I could lose it as easily as I lost you. That there might be something worth mourning if things go wrong. Its opening myself up to hideous agony.

But the picture is sitting right there. Snapshot of my own defiance.

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