I wish I was in my second trimester.

I'm happily away visiting my parents house for the next few weeks.  Us girls have left hubby alone to fend for himself as we vacation in a little slice of paradise... 

I can't help but remember how I had envisioned this trip a few months ago.  Expecting to be nearly 20 weeks pregnant by now, clearly showing and feeling all those kicks and rolls of our 3rd baby. 

Instead, I open my facebook news feed all to often and see posts from pregnant friends that have passed me on my journey.  The ones that stayed pregnant.  I wouldn't wish for anything different for them, but a little piece of my heart aches a tiny bit every time and I sigh and think:

 'I wish I was in my second trimester.' 

I'm stuck in a strange world.  The world at peace, and the world so sad.  The world that forgets that Isaiah will not join our family and the world that is so thankful I was able to spend so much time with him and have a beautiful memorial service for him. 

To think that I was supposed to be so pregnant this time of year, and now it is sometimes hard for me to remember I even was pregnant just a few months ago. It baffles me. 

People ask me how I am, and truly, genuinely, I am good.  Really good, God is so faithful, so constant, so true.  He has never let me down or abandoned me.  I feel his strength when I don't want to go on and his peace when I think the road ahead is too overwhelming.  But in the midst of all of that, I just miss Isaiah. 

That's all there is to it.  I miss him.  The little boy I never had a chance to meet.  The one we didn't plan but were so excited to have.  The one who could have been a playmate for his older cousins and whose big sisters would have dressed him up in fairy costumes and hair bows while he ran around with a sword in his hand and built lego houses. 

I miss him, a lot.  Every day, I miss him. 

So if you ask me how I am, and you can see that I'm truly good, its because I am.

But I still miss my son.