I feel like I was sidetracked, and this made sense to start another part of the story. About a month ago I felt compelled to begin the decluttering process in my house. I did a small amount of the “Does it bring you joy?” I think it was more along the lines of “there’s no more room, let it go.”

I got rid of clothes that didn’t fit, blankets that were definitely from the old days and then I started with random household items. As I was going through my closet, which has only just begun, I sat on the floor and wept.

See, my mom had given me two of my baby dresses that have sat in my closet for years. The dresses have followed me from apartment to rental to the house I now own. They’re a part of me, my story.

So why the hell was I crying about these dresses? I feel like a part of me was always expecting to have more kids. I mean my kids are a lot. I don’t know how my mom had four of us and managed to stay sane. But, hey, I wanted a girl. I felt like that was going to complete the family.

When I was diagnosed with epilepsy in late 2018, I think I became even more hardheaded than I already was. What did I decide to do? Go against every doctor’s advice and try for another baby. By March 2019, after a lovely stay in the ICU that I cannot even remember, I had done it. Until I couldn’t.

I’m not sure I’m ready to feel the wrath of the world knowing more. Maybe not yet. Or ever. Time will tell.

xoxo

Sunset