Maybe you've noticed that the look of this blog has changed.
In many ways the changes to this space parallel the changes in my life.
I am in transition.
Of course I am still missing her - but the darkness of grief is not ALL of who I am now.
And yes I am loving mothering the twins - but that love doesn't tell the whole story either.
Somewhere between what has happened, and what comes next,
between what is and what can never be,
between feeling robbed by her loss, and grateful for the perspective on life it has afforded me,
is the place where I live (and write) these days.
This space started as a grief blog.
Then a grief/infertility blog.
Then a grief/infertility/pregnancy after loss blog.
And now it is changing again.
I will always grieve Peyton. With every fiber of my being I feel her loss, in the good days and the bad days. And while my love for her is unwaivering, and I do the best I can at mothering a child who is no longer here, there is a whole side of myself that feels underrepresented in these posts.
The side that has embraced living.
There are so many days that I log on here wanting to share something noteworthy (to me at least) about my day. But then I worry. I worry that something I write may be triggering for someone who has come here fresh in their loss or infertility journey, and that such a post might be a sort of slap in the face.
I had thought that starting the Rodeo would be a safe way to share the twins here.
That it would give those folks who needed it a heads up to avoid my blog on a given day, but now I feel like I have painted myself into a corner with it because I might have SO MUCH to say about them on a Monday, or a Tuesday, but feel like I can't.
Then there are the days that I am dying to post about my latest writing project, or to tell a funny story, or share a general observation on life, but I worry then, too, that doing so would somehow be unfair to those readers who come here solely to identify with someone who is grieving.
So I write nothing.
The problem with writing nothing, is that I just.can't.do.it.
I am a writer.
I live, breathe, eat, sleep, love-love-love to write!
It is as if the events of my life are only confirmed to me once I have documented them. Even during the hospital stay with Peyton, we would go through so much with her during the day, but until I came home to journal it, or read it on her blog, it didn't feel real to me.
For a while I thought about starting a separate blog. An everything other than Peyton blog to chronicle my life with the twins, and my writing projects, but that just felt completely unrealistic, because my experiences with Peyton influence and color every other part of my world. The two sides of my life are not mutually exclusive.
I cry more easily, and laugh more fully - because of her.
I admire the beauty in the little things, and feel confident in taking on the big things - because of her.
I know the value in sometimes building yourself up, and the beauty that comes in sometimes allowing yourself to fall - because of her.
There is no other life to document. No life that is somehow outside of my love of and grief for my daughter. There is just this life. My life. And even when not talking specifically about her, Peyton is a huge part of what makes me me.
So I guess that's what this post is really all about.
A bit of a warning to my readers that not every entry here is always going to be centered around grief, or loss, or infertility.
Yes, this is still Peyton's place - her corner of the blogosphere.
And yes I miss her like crazy all of the time.
But like every big sister, Peyton shares my heart and my love with others now. There is room enough in there for her, and her siblings. For her father. Our friends. My writing, and other passions.
It only feels fitting that she would share this space too.