There are no half assembled baby accessories in the living room, the second car seat that we know we need before heading to the hospital has yet to be purchased, and the room that will eventually be the Snowflakes' nursery is still a disheveled pile of files and paperwork that we call an office.
There is so much that still needs to be done, and I don't know if it is out of fear or disbelief, but we seem to have let time just tick by in that department without any progress.
In this house the only signs that there were ever any thoughts of a baby are some items along our mantle,
and a room at the opposite side of our hallway, hidden behind a closed door - a door that in the last 26 months has only been opened a handful of times, and most often when curious visitors have asked to see it.
Behind that door, everything is exactly as it was the day she died. The little garbage bag of clothes that Peyton wore in her short life still sits on the floor untouched...
The crib, with cards from well wishers at her shower framed above it, now lays vacant, under two years of dust...
And presents, delivered at or around the time of her birth, still sit neatly wrapped, waiting for the arrival of a child who was destined at birth never to come home...
There are many truths that we have had to face in this babylost world, and for us, one truth is that the little yellow room that we had always referred to as "the baby's room" will never hold that title for us again. Though she never slept there, that room was Peyton's, and only Peyton's, and one of these days when the strength or the courage or the drive are strong enough, it will be dismantled, and a space for me to sit and write will replace it.
I feel her there, in that room. I feel her all around me, and though I do believe in the possibilities of our family continuing to grow, I just could never put another child in that room.
When they arrive the Snowflakes will have their own space, a wonderful nursery created for them in the office closest to our bedroom. Hubs has a million and one ideas that he would like to see come to life in there, ideas that sound beautiful and dreamlike and wonderful, and just the fact that we are going there, that we are having these late night conversations about setting up another nursery, or how life will be once these twins come home, is a
And last night we took another huge step.
For the very first time in this pregnancy, we bought something for the Snowflakes. It was twelve somethings actually - twelve little Fuzzibunz cloth diapers, and while some may ask, "what's the big deal in that?" when your only experience with pregnancy outcomes has been a devastating one, it can be hard not to feel superstitious about getting too far ahead of yourself.
Over the past six months there have been several times when an outfit, or a toy, or a blanket has caught my eye for the twins, and I have put these items into my online shopping cart at Zulilly or Amazon wanting to purchase them, only to chicken out before hitting the button. But last night was different.
Last night I felt sure.
I felt sure these babies are going to be okay.
I felt sure that they will be healthy.
And I felt sure that healthy babies need diapers, so like a kid in a candy store I shopped various sizes and adorable colors and it was exciting and made me smile and I loved it.
Last night, in these twelve tiny steps, I was able to take a giant leap of faith that this time will be different - these rainbows are coming home.
P.S. Today marks Bedrest Day 90 - ugh.