The One You've Been Waiting For...

For those of you who follow me on Facebook, I'm sure you have been wondering how long it would take me to turn our December emergency-room trip with Camden into a blog post.  It was a very emotional and heartwrenching and vulnerable night for my husband and I.  I've written about it a million times in my mind.  Words that I'm certain would bring you to tears.  BUT Keith asked me to keep the details just between us.  What we experienced when faced with the possibility of losing something so precious to us both should not be posted for all the world to see. 

HOWEVER, writing is therapy for me.  So not being able to write about this monumental event has been only making it a bigger deal in my mind.  I've been struggling for about a month now with how to keep my promise to my husband, yet still be able to talk through what I have been going through as a result of that night.  The answer came to me this morning, after watching a broadcast of Dr. Charles Stanley, and after chatting with a childhood friend who recently lost her grandmother.

It's all about faith...

Years ago, my best friend called to tell me they had recently discovered that her daughter has peanut allergies.  I remember thinking, "Oh, I cannot imagine.  If my child had an allergy like that, I would live in a constant state of panic."  A few months later, we had the same discovery about our youngest child, Camden.  He was 22 months old, and decided to take a few bites of his brother's peanut-buttered toast.  I didn't see it happen, but I heard the coughing, and he started crying immediately.  When I got to him, only seconds after those dreadful bites, his face was all splotchy and welped around his mouth, and he was scratching at his neck, and screaming uncontrollably.  Thankfully, his breathing was never impaired.  After some blood tests and allergy tests, it was determined he is in fact not only allergic to peanuts and peanut butter, but he is also allergic to every single tree nut, including pecans, walnuts, macadamias, almonds, etc.

Shortly after that, I really did start suffering from panic attacks.  I truly was in a constant state of panic, worrying about everything he ate, every place we ate, who fed him.  Although, the tests revealed his allergies were not life-threatening, I was told that at any moment they could be.  So I believed his life was literally in my hands. 

Over the next few years, there were a few incidents where he came mighty close to eating something he shouldn't, but thankfully, he faired well.  At the age of 5, he was to be tested again to determine if he had outgrown his allergic reaction to nuts.  He had not.  In fact, his allergies actually became worse, and are now classified as severe.

Camden went the next two years without incident.  I was beginning to feel more confident in my ability to handle his allergies.  But in the last five months, he has come into contact with those forbidden nuts three times.  All three times, I was in the room next door.  The third time, we wound up in the emergency room where he had to be given steroids to counteract his body's reaction. 

Since that night, I've maintained my composure on the outside.  But on the inside, I have been beating myself up.  I can't believe I let this happen.  What kind of mother am I?  He could have died.  He could have died.  That's all I keep hearing.  He could have died.  I don't like who I am when I have this inner dialogue.  I become almost immobile, feeling such self-doubt and unworthiness that I can barely crawl out of bed.  I've been praying for a release from this bondage.  I am so thankful that God has heard and answered my prayer.  Read on, as I tell you how...

A friend of mine whom I grew up with, lost her grandmother just before Christmas.  She shared her experience with me last week. She was with her grandmother when she left this world.  She told me that while watching her grandmother stuggle in pain the last hours of her life, she wondered why God would allow her to suffer on.  While she knew this woman who she dearly loved was in such obvious pain, my friend did not curse God or doubt God.  She actually tried to wrap her brain around what good could come of it.  She found her answer moments later.  But that's a whole other story. 

As I listened to Dr. Charles Stanley teach about faith this morning, I began to see the good that could come from Camden's allergies.  While I have prayed to God almost daily that He would heal Camden of his allergies, I have not asked myself why He has chosen not to do so.  What purpose would these allergies serve?  What good could come from Camden's allergies?  The answer is "faith". 

Mark 4:35-40 reads,

And the same day, when the even was come, He saith unto them, "Let us pass over unto the other side."  And when they had sent away the multitude, they took Him even as he was in the ship.  And there also with Him other little ships.  And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full.  And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow:  and they awake Him, and say unto Him, "Master, carest Thou not that we perish?"  And he arose and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, "Peace, be still."  And the wind ceased and there was a great calm.  And He said unto them, "Why are ye so fearful?  how is it that ye have no faith?"

I wonder, as I worried about every little thing Camden ate, if God said, "Why are ye so fearful?  how is it that ye have no faith?"  I wonder, as Camden lied there in that hospital bed, and I prayed so desperately for him to be okay, if God said, "Why are ye so fearful?  how is it that ye have no faith?"  I wonder, as I cried myself to sleep, thinking what an awful mother I am, if God said, "Why are ye so fearful?  how is it that ye have no faith?"

My faith has been in myself, and in my ability to care for Camden and keep him alive.  No wonder he ended up in the hospital. 

I repeat what I wrote last August.  If Camden has taught me anything in these seven years I've shared with him so far, it's that ~ if it were only up to me to keep this child alive, I would have failed him so many times. What joy and relief I feel to know that it's not only up to me.

My faith is in the Lord.

My Nightmare

Usually when I am in the midst of a nightmare, the instant I come to the realization that it is in fact a nightmare, I wake up.  That was not the case last night, which made it by far the scariest dream I've ever had.

As the nightmare begins, I am at a fundraiser.  I don't know what the fundraiser is for, or what my purpose there is, or how I even know it was a fundraiser, but I am at a fundraiser.  I am in a state of shock because I've just been told that my husband has been killed in a car accident.  I am looking around the room seeing people who I recognize (high school friends, Stampin' Up! customers, people from church), and I'm wondering if I should tell anyone.  If I do tell anyone, who should I tell first? 

Then I notice these two boys running around chasing each other, laughing and having so much fun.  I realize these are my boys.  The children my husband and I brought into this world.  The products of our love.  And I begin to feel a pain in my chest, like a hole in my heart.  How do I tell them they will never see their father again?

The reality of the situation starts to set in, and I know that I have got to get out of this place.  I grab their hands and try not to let them see that I am upset.  I tell a friend from high school that I have to go, and I wonder if she has heard the news that has suddenly destroyed my life.

I step out of the building onto a busy street, and it hits me.  This is just a dream.  Wake up... 

Wake up... 

Why am I not waking up?! 

Oh no!  It must not be a dream.  This is a nightmare.  This is my worst nightmare. 

At that moment, my pulse begins racing, and I feel a hole in my chest where my heart is supposed to be.  My chest hurts.  I am having a panic attack.  How can I not panic when I've just lost the only man I've ever loved?  How do I live without him?

A million thoughts begin to run through my mind.

"I need to call my mom."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"I don't know what to do."
"How did I get here?"
"We talked about this.  What did he tell me I should do?"
"I don't know what to do."
"What did he tell me I should do?
"I need to call my mom."

I look around, seriously trying to remember how we got to this place where the fundraiser is being held, because if I can't remember that, then how will we get back home.

My boys are smiling at each other, saying funny things to make the other one laugh. 

I tell myself again to wake up.  This is just a dream.  If this were a dream, I would wake up.  But I'm not waking up, so it hits me again that this is real. 

Oh my God.  He's really dead. 

Then my eyes opened, and I found myself lying in our bed.  My heart was racing, and I was in the midst of a real panic attack.  I looked to my left, and was so relieved to find my high school sweetheart sleeping beside me.  He's alive!  Oh thank God.

It was just a horrible, horrible nightmare - the worst nightmare I've ever had. 

I rolled over close to him and forced myself into his arms.  I laid my head on his chest, and I cried and cried and cried.  He didn't have to ask what my nightmare was.  I think he could tell by the way I clung to him.

Having Bryson

Yesterday, we celebrated the birth of my first son, Bryson Daniel Bray, born nine years ago.  Of course, this has me reminiscing about the hours leading up to my first child-birthing experience, and the beginning of my motherhood adventure...

Friday ~ October 11, 2002
My husband, Keith, and I arrive at Randolph Hospital, certain that I am in labor, and certain that Bryson will be born in the next 24 hours.  After a couple of hours in the triage room and walking the halls of the maternity ward, we are told, "You are not in active labor, which means you do not need to be here right now.  However, you are in the early stages of labor, so this baby should be coming in the next 24 hours.  Go walk around the mall, and we'll see you tomorrow." 

Saturday ~ October 26, 2002
FIFTEEN DAYS LATER!  I am at my parents' house, surrounded by my family.  We are celebrating my oldest sister's birthday.  There is so much food.  I am so hungry!  I've been starving myself for the past 15 days, fully expecting to go into labor, and hoping to avoid any uncontrollable bodily functions during childbirth.  However, my contractions stopped about a week ago.  And there is no indication that this baby is coming before Monday, when I am scheduled to be induced.  So, I decide to enjoy the meal.  I eat, and I eat, and I eat.  I even helped myself to a second piece of birthday cake, for the baby, of course. 

Keith and I go to bed that night around 11pm.  Keith falls asleep, as he always does, as soon as his head hits the pillow.  I lay there, wide awake.  I can't get comfortable.  My back hurts.  After about 10 minutes, I decide to get up.  I settle myself in the rocking chair in the nursery, gazing at all the baby stuff just waiting to be made useful.  That's when the contractions start.  But these contractions are different.  They hurt.  So much in fact that I cannot stand during the contraction, and I find myself utilizing those ridiculous breathing exercises, that before this moment, I could not imagine myself doing.  Between contractions, I walk to the bedroom.  I call to Keith, but he's snoring.  I wonder if I should wake him.  I had felt so foolish after convincing him I was in labor two weeks ago, only to be disappointed for the following 15 days.  I decide to let him sleep.

I walk to the living room.  I sit on the couch for a little while, as the contractions become closer and more intense.  The pain is more than I expected, so I pray.  Lord, please help me to know if this is real labor.  Please give me a sign.  I turn on the TV.  I had not anticipated that God would use my favorite show as a sign, but there in the middle of my living room, one of the the main characters on ER is in labor, about to give birth to twins.  I literally feel her pain.  Okay God, thank you!   I stand, fully intending to walk to the bedroom and wake my husband, but I hurt so much now that I cannot move my feet.  I sit back down.  I need Keith.  I yell to him.  Keith!  He doesn't hear me.  I yell again.  Keith!  Nothing.  Ugh!  I turn up the television as loud as it will go, thinking surely this will wake him.  Nope. 

I get on my hands and knees.  This is easier than walking.  I crawl to our bedroom door, open it and reach for the light switch.  Keith, it's happening!  We're going to have a baby! 

Sunday ~ October 27, 2002
When we arrived at the hospital at 2:00 this morning, I expected to give this child the push he needed to start his life on earth.  That is the whole reason I refused the epidural.  I wanted to go all-natural.  I wanted to feel him come into this world. 

Now I lay in my hospital bed, unable to move the lower portion of my body.  I feel so many things right now, and yet I feel nothing at the same time.  That's the only way I know to describe it.  I'm elated that Bryson is finally here, but I am so disappointed that I couldn't get him here.  I labored for fourteen and half hours.  I pushed for two and half of those hours, but I could not get him out.  I had an emergency c-section.  Bryson was born at 2:48pm, but not because of me.  The doctors had to cut me open and pull him out.  I did not see that moment.  I did not even feel that moment.  I feel like a failure.

The nurse asks me again, "Can you wiggle your toes?  Well, look at that.  They're wiggling.  How would you like to hold your baby?"

I cry as I remember the first time I held him in my arms.  I am in shock.  This is my child.  All I can say is, "Unbelievable."  I say it over and over again.  I can't believe he is mine.  I can't believe he is mine.  I can't believe he is mine.  I look into his blue eyes, and I feel an overwhelming sense of purpose and belonging.  I am his, and he is mine.  Thank you God. 

Monday ~ October 28, 2002
Dr. Lennon comes into my hospital room.  "There's the new mommy," he says.  He tells me I did good.  He tells me I am tough.  He tells me I have a beautiful baby.  I smile.  Then I apologize for all those bodily functions I wasn't able to control during child birth.

Finding Joy

Have you ever hoped that something wonderful would happen?  And the more you imagined it, the more real it seemed it would someday be?  I do that, probably too often.  I get this idea in my head of a romantic evening planned by my husband, or an unexpected visit from my parents, or a thoughtful gesture from a friend.  And then when they don't actually do what I hoped they would, I find myself disappointed and feeling rejected. 

I recently inferred this type of situation upon God, thinking it would be such proof of His awesome power if He would allow this one thing to happen.  What a testimony it would be of His control in my life.  I really became quite engulfed in the fantasy, to the point that there was little doubt of it not coming true.  But then it didn't happen.  And not only did it NOT happen, but the total opposite of my envisioned scenario occurred just days after I realized this picture-perfect fantasy was just that...  a fantasy. 

So I found myself back in reality, where life doesn't always go as planned.  There are no do-overs.  And much of the time, wishes don't come true.  How can I ever be truly happy in the real world?

The answer came to me this morning during our homeschool Bible study.  We've been talking about the Israelites leaving Egypt, and complaining all the while they journeyed through the desert.  (This story has been reintroduced to me time and again over the last six months.)  To provide my children with a current life application for this Scripture, I read a story about "whining".  We talked about how irritating whining is to those around you, and how we whine to get attention and/or to get our way.  We talked about why we whine.  We whine because we don't want to do something or because we want something.  It really hit me when I heard myself telling my children, "If you spend all your time thinking about what you don't have, you'll never be happy.  If you think about what you do have, you will never be sad."  It was a "light bulb moment" for me. 

Just days ago, I cried myself to sleep, so overcome with the grief of losing the hope of something that was never even mine to begin with.  Since then, while I've nurtured and provided for my family on the outside, on the inside, I was drowning in the sorrow of what I will never have.  If I only ever focus on that, I'll never be happy again.

So I've decided to find my joy.  Thankfully I don't have to look very far.  I am so blessed.  Look at all God has given me.  I have a wonderful husband, two healthy boys, a beautiful home, family, friends, church, and so much more.  Most importantly for me, I have an awesome God.  When I think about all He has done for me, and all He has given me, I can't help but make a joyful noise!

I thank you for taking the time to read.  I pray you find your joy!

God bless!

Remembering and Retelling

I was starting a new job at High Point University on September 11, 2001.  I didn't have the radio on during my drive into the city.  I was enjoying the peace and quiet, and praying that God would bless me in this new venture.  My new boss, who had at one time been my college professor, arrived at the office at the same time.  I climbed out of my car at exactly 9:00a.m., and was greeted by a startled, frightened look upon my boss's face.  His first words to me that morning were, "Did you hear?"  Did I hear what?  I suppose my blank expression said I obviously hadn't heard.  So he was the one who told me that a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers in New York City, just minutes before.  I remember thinking how odd and how sad such an event was. 

We walked into the office, and I immediately turned on the clock radio sitting on my desk.  My boss had gone into his office.  The immediate words spoken from the radio said a second plane had crashed into the second tower.  He came out of his office, and our eyes met.  I know we were both thinking the same thing...  This is not a coincidence.  This is bad.  This is very bad. 

Our offices were actually located in a house set close to the University campus.  He had a class gathering downstairs.  I could hear the college students talking.  He went downstairs and turned on the television.  There was no television upstairs.  So I sat listening to every word that came from that little radio.  I called my husband, desperate to hear his voice, and feeling that we should be together.  I was frightened.  I simply wanted to be close to him.  I called my mom and my dad, and my sisters and brothers.  We were all frightened, but thankfully we weren't in New York. 

My work phone rang, and I was introduced to my boss's son.  He wanted to talk to his father.  When I was hired the week before, my boss had told me not to interrupt class except for emergency purposes.  I heard the fear in this young man's voice, and knew he needed to hear his dad.  I went downstairs and saw students crying as they were glued to the television.  I told my boss his son was on the phone.  His voice was trembly, but I could see the relief in his eyes when he spoke.

When he hung up, he told his students class was over.  He and I went back upstairs.  I turned the radio off while he made phone calls.  My cell phone rang.  It was my husband telling me that a third plane had crashed into the Pentagon.  Apparently my boss heard this at the same time.  He came out of his office and told me to go home... 

I quit that job less than a year later, when I was pregnant with my first child.  I haven't seen that man who was my professor and then my boss since.  But I will remember him forever, and I'm certain he will always remember me.  Where was I when the world stopped turning that September day?  I was at High Point University with Patrick Haun.  I will never forget...


In the days that followed that horrible day, as all Americans did, I felt helpless and distraught.  When I am overcome by emotion, I write.  This is what I wrote...

The Fall of Twin Sisters
written by Marci Lee Bray
September 25, 2001

My sister saw me wounded
for all the world to see,
how such a stable structure
could fall to bended knee.
There beside me, her broken twin,
for a moment she stood tall -
unaware of her ill fate,
and that she too would fall.
As she mourned for me so helplessly,
terror again took aim.
Without warning, sign or caution,
her heart burst into flame.
We cried out in anguish,
for we felt each other's woe.
Our entire beings ached within
as the fire began to grow.
I watched my sister get weaker.
I knew she would soon lose hope.
Without my sister beside me,
there, alone, I could not cope.
I tried so hard not to buckle.
I tried to stand with pride.
I looked over to my sister,
but she was no longer at my side.
And so I too gave up the fight.
I surrendered to defeat.
The twins who filled the New York sky
stumbled to our tired feet,
leaving behind death and destruction,
a world fill with sorrow and grief,
and a nation with unanswered questions
in a state of disbelief.

What It's Like to Be Camden's Mother...

There is nothing like the presence of a child to make you realize just how vulnerable and helpless you really are.

My youngest son, Camden, celebrated his seventh birthday last week.  Of course, this annual milestone always induces a nostalgic trip down memory lane.  There are so many moments that jump out at me as I relive these last seven years.  There are memories that make me laugh, and memories that make me cry.  But mostly, there are startling memories that literally make my heart almost stop.

Even before Camden came into this world, he put a fear in me that has never gone away.  I'd only known I was pregnant for a month when I first thought I'd lost him.  I went to the doctor for my initial prenatal visit, and the "positive" on my pregnancy test was so faint, the nurse told me I'd most likely miscarried.  I was devastated.  We had to wait three days for the bloodwork to come back before learning that in actuality, everything was fine, and our second-born child should arrive in late August.  Thank you God!

Camden, however, decided he wanted to be a May baby.  He attempted to make his debut at twenty-eight weeks.  One steroid shot (to develop his lungs) and eight weeks of bedrest later, the doctor gave Camden permission to join the land of living-outside-the-womb.  Thank you God!  At which point, Camden decided to wait another three weeks.

If you read my last blog post ("I Can't Help It"), you'll remember that his birth was not without equally heart-wrenching incident.  His umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, but thankfully, he was a scheduled c-section, which allowed the doctors to react quickly.  Thank you God!  When he finally cried that first cry, I cannot begin to describe the joy and relief.  Little did I know that would be my reaction on so many more occasions in the years to come.

One of my most vividly terrifying memories of his toddler years occurred at my friend Molly's house.  We were visiting for a playdate.  While the little ones were playing downstairs, Molly and I snuck upstairs to her scrapbook room.  We had only been up there for maybe two or three minutes, when I heard a tiny voice say, "Mommy, help me."  I realized this tiny voice was coming from the upper-level of the house, rather than  the lower-level.  It honestly never occurred to me that my less-than-two-year-old would try and then be able to climb all those steps.  My heart skipped a beat when I saw Camden...  not actually on the stairs, but hanging on the banister looming over the stairway.  I somehow remained calm as I pulled him over to the safe side.  Then I burst into tears as I thought about what might have been.  Thank you God!

Soon after the staircase incident, at the age of 22 months, Camden decided he wanted to eat the same thing  his older brother, Bryson, was eating for breakfast.  When I wasn't looking (of course), he took a few bites of Bryson's peanut butter toast.  I had no idea UNTIL he started gagging and crying.  I ran to him.  His face was splotchy and he was scratching at his throat.  I knew immediately what had happened.  We raced to the doctor's office, and learned he is allergic to not only peanuts and peanut butter, but also to every tree nut.  He recuperated without emergency measures.  Thank you God!  However, he must have an epi-pen available at all times.

These are just a few examples of the heart-stopping incidents I've experienced as Camden's mother.  There are many more.  I am often gripped with the fear that somehow this child is going to be taken from me, whether it be him falling off of the the kitchen table, drowning himself in the toilet, closing himself in the dryer or getting ahold of another child's peanut butter crackers (all of which he has attempted to do).   There is only one way to overcome that fear, and that is to realize that I am not in control.  Thank you God!

If Camden has taught me anything in these seven years I've shared with him so far, it's that ~  if it were only up to me to keep this child alive, I would have failed him so many times.  What joy and relief I feel to know that it's not only up to me.  Thank you God!

I Can't Help It

ALMOST SEVEN YEARS AGO...   I was sprawled out on an operating table on the brink of the ceasarean delivery of my second child.  The OB-GYN looked me in the eye and asked, "Are we tying your tubes today?"  I shuddered at the thought.  I don't remember my exact response, but I'm sure it was something like, "Absolutely NOT!"  I looked over at my husband, Keith, who hesitated, but then agreed with me.  I'm pretty sure he was on the same time-saving, money-saving wavelength as the male doctor who was about to cut me open - "We might as well do it while we're in there."

At that moment, there was no doubt in my mind that we would have at least one more child.  Little did I know what lied ahead...

TWO YEARS LATER...   I will never forget the moment I finally understood the absolution behind Keith's words as he raised his voice at me in desperation, "We're done!  We're not having anymore kids!"  The reality of his true feelings hit me like a ton of bricks.  Even after all we'd been through, I had not lost the desire to be pregnant again, to give birth again, and to be a mother to a third Bray child. 

I'd always heard, "When you're done, you'll know you're done."  Yet here we stood.  Keith, so certain that we were meant to be a family of four.  And me, so certain that we should have another.  How could we be so completely opposite on our vision for this family?  I remember feeling shattered, unloved and untrusted.  It was so unfair to Keith, but all I could think about at that time, is what I wanted - another baby...

TODAY...   Now that I am a few years older and few years wiser, I recall the moments that transpired soon after the OB-GYN asked that fateful question almost seven years ago.  I try to see what happened through Keith's eyes...

I sit here praying as I hold my wife's hand.  I can see the fear in her eyes as she tries not the think about the c-section they are performing, evicting our child from the only home he has known for the past nine months.  It seems ironic.  She has been praying so desperately to keep him in there as she was forced to bedrest since going into pre-term labor at 30 weeks.  Now they are cutting her body open to pull him out.  As I'm watching her face, trying to remain calm, I see her cringe.  Despite the spinal that is supposed to make her numb, she grows pale as she is overcome with pain.  I listen as the doctor explains that the baby's shoulders are wider than they expected, so she might feel some pressure.  I'm studying her.  She is not just feeling pressure.  She is hurting.  She is hurting a lot, and there is nothing I can do about it.  The color drains even more from her face, and the fear in her eyes turns to panic.  She is frightened.  She tells me her chest hurts.  She tells me again and again.   And I just sit there holding her hand and rubbing her hair because there is nothing else I can do.  I decide to look over the blanket they have hanging to block our view of her torso and what they are doing down there.  I see what must be her organs lying above her belly.  And then I see him...  our precious child - the product of our love, and my heart stops.  His face is blue, and there is something wrapped around his neck.  Oh God, please no.  The next seconds last for what seems like forever as they quickly unwrap his umbilical cord and suction all kinds of fluids from his mouth.  I hear my wife's panicky weak voice, "He's not crying."  I am frozen. "Why isn't he crying?," she asks.  I struggle to grasp the reality of what is occurring right before my eyes.  Then it happens.  "WAH!  WAH!  WAH!"  Thank you, God.  I crumble back to my seat beside her.  She is sobbing.  I think I'm crying too.  She starts heaving because the pain she is experiencing is almost unbearable.  Between heaves, she begs to see him.  "I need to see him.  Please let me see him."  The pediatrician allows her a quick glance, and she is happy.  I know she is still in pain.  But her colorless face is glowing with motherly pride.  She says he is perfect.  And she is right.  He is perfect.  Thank you, God.  The nurses tell me I need to go with our son.  They reassure me that my wife is in good hands.  I watch her as I walk out the door.  She looks so pale and so exhausted.  I feel like I should stay with her, but I know I need to be with our son.  So I go.  I leave my wife.  I leave her in God's hands.

I sit here with tears uncontrollably rolling down my face as I relive that moment.  I honestly thought I was dying as they pried my belly open to get Camden out.  And the world stopped as we waited to hear that first cry.  What joy and relief we felt when at last we heard him scream.  It was the scariest moment of my life.  I imagine it had to be the scariest moment of Keith's life as well.  If I put myself in his shoes, there is no way I would willingly walk down that road again.  So I honestly cannot blame him for not openly embracing the idea of another pregnancy and birth.

Still...

I can stifle it.  I can suppress it.  I can pretend it doesn't exist.  But as I held my sister's newborn baby girl in my arms yesterday, all the walls I built in my attempt to block out those feelings came tumbling down. 

I can't help it.  I want another baby.