Three weeks.

Three weeks from today I will be induced. At this exact time…who knows…will I be in the throes of labor? Will I have asked for the epidural yet? Will I have seen my sweet girl’s face for the first time?

Three weeks. For some reason, that time period, though sure to be comprised of some eternally long days, sounds so short. And today the crush of time hit me like a ton of bricks.

Recent days have been filled with making plans, schedules and arrangements in the midst of great unknowns. Arranging travel plans for loved ones far away. When do you come? How long do you stay? In one scenario, when will a funeral likely take place? Or in the other scenario how long will I be in Seattle? Scheduling flights to Seattle and no further in the hopes that there is a living breathing baby girl to hold, but scheduled on a Friday red-eye just in case we’re burying our precious girl the next day.

Considerations and unknowns and juggling of hopes, dreams, realities, optimism and pessimism – a process I would wish on no one.

I dragged a tub of baby clothes from the garage yesterday. I sat in an empty bedroom. No crib. No stack of diapers. No changing table. No dresser. No decorations on the wall. No vibrator seat. No play-mat. I pulled out some sister-worn newborn onesies and jammies and gloves to put through the wash. Swallowing the lump in my throat as I wondered whether I would ever have the opportunity to dress my daughter in them. In some ways feeling blessed. This is our second daughter. We already have so much of the baby gear. It’s all tucked away and folded up and stored, and could be pulled out and set up in short order. But it doesn’t have to be set up yet. Heaven knows the last thing I want, upon forced to return home with achingly empty arms, is a collection of physical items pointing to the one who is missing.

And so some used clothes, along with the two outfits Daddy and I purchased after the oh so optimistic appointment…the one before the second potential lethal diagnosis, will be packed in my Seattle bags. That and a soft cozy blanket to wrap our girl in. And that’s it. The extent of the baby prep. Which makes that three week timeline all the more surreal.

Perhaps it was the accumulation of all these thoughts and emotions, but I completely lost it in our Pediatrician’s office today. The last time I’d been in with Eliana was six months ago. I was newly pregnant, with no dark diagnoses hanging over me. So our pediatrician acted as anyone would upon entering a room with a momma with an obviously burgeoning belly. She began to talk to Eliana about being a big sister. Asked if it was a girl or boy. The due date. By this time I’ve gotten somewhat good at talking about Arabella without breaking into ugly sobs each time. But today? The tears flowed fat and fast as I explained that I didn’t know if we were going to be bringing a baby home. Let me tell you, melting down in the doctor’s office when your daughter is already terrified (I wouldn’t like sitting on that strange scale right next to a loud printer either) and clinging tightly to you is perhaps not the best thing to do. But I recovered my composure. Somewhat. And our kind doctor graciously examined Curious George first so Eliana could see that she truly had nothing to be afraid of. And then I got back in the car, called my husband, sobbed again and told him I needed him today.

Three weeks. So that’s where I’m at at three weeks out. Carried by grace, but also overwhelmed by it all.

The one tremendously bright spot of the week? Wednesday we got to travel up to Pateros for a little evening photoshoot with Kristin Wall and Emily Moller of Lifesong Photography. I will tell you much more about this incredible evening in a later post when I have more images to share, but I had to give you one sneak peek from the evening. Thank you for sustaining us with your prayers!