Oh Sawyer, these puppies are a handful. Their mischievousness remind me so much of you. Their eyes and ears are open, and their hind legs are finally getting some practice in walking/stumbling around. I went in yesterday morning to change the sheet and the second I opened up their little playpen door, there was a mad rush of puppies. At first I thought, "Yes! Get off the blanket so I can put the new one down." And then I realized that these nine little puppies were so excited to be walking (sort of) and free from their playpen to roam and explore....which means that nine little puppies were excitedly peeing all over the floor I just mopped the previous day. At first I was so frustrated and just wanted to tell their claimees to go buy a puppy nursing bottle because I'm getting rid of them today, but then a memory of you popped into my head and I started to laugh. And then cry. And then laugh because puppy pee made me think of you. And then I cleaned...again. Do you remember the time Mommy spent all morning deep cleaning the house, then finally sat down to relax when you walked up to me naked (which wasn't a rarity)? You looked at me and said, "Poop," pointing to your bare butt. I thought you had to go poop, so I said, "Okay, let's go potty." Then you turned around and I saw...you had already gone. Where? Oh, on the kitchen floor. Well it's annoying that I just mopped it, but it's better than the carpet. Wait. It's on the carpet too. What?!? You actually pooped in the underwear, took them off yourself, dragging the poop all down your leg and onto your foot, then decided to take a lap or two before coming to get me? Mommy got so upset with you. Deep cleaning puts me in a bad mood anyway, but then having to redo it all after I just finished...oh I was not happy. And I couldn't even clean it up until I cleaned you up first. It's memories like this that make me wish I had more patience with your little shenanigans. I'd clean up my Sawyer poop a million times a day if I could just have the chance again.

This has been a weird month. I feel like I've spent the last 6 months dreading all of the "first time without Sawyer" events, that January has just felt like that sense of purgatory. I'm waiting, but I don't know what I'm waiting for. Another breakdown? Another dream or memory? Healing? This new baby to be in my arms? I feel as if things are finally set in stone. I've said before that it feels like you've been gone forever. That physical absence of you isn't so raw anymore. It's common now. The only little guy I snuggle with now isn't so little anymore (though he's still really great at snuggling). I keep thinking about you lying in bed with me, rearranging my fingers in your hand so that we were holding hands just as you liked, because everything was your way. My free arm was around you and you looked up at me and told me you loved me. I remember this particular memory so clearly and so often because at that exact moment I thought, "If anything ever happened to you, I will remember this moment." Why would I think such a thing? This was just a couple days before you left. It was the last time you slept in my bed with me. I know that the memory is a fragile thing and there will be pieces of you that I cannot hold onto forever, but this image of you will never fade. I promise. As horrible of a thought that it was, I am so glad I had it, because I want to remember that moment forever and always.

Daddy asked me today when you and Logan were able to sit up. I already couldn't remember (see what I mean about those fragile memories), so I grabbed your baby book to look it up. Of course I started looking through all of those memories, all those stories I wrote down about your firsts. Then I got to the end of the baby book. Auntie Kim was smart and loving enough to take out all of the pages that I wouldn't get to fill out before I had a chance to realize that. Instead of all the empty pages of birthdays that would never come to pass, I saw the guestbook pages that we had set out for your funeral. I began looking through those for the first time. There were so many people there. Some that I had no idea even came. There were so many people at the end, when we walked out to do your balloon release. I remember commenting that it felt like the dollar dance, me standing awkwardly with a line of people waiting to come hug me. Matt and I were separated somehow, and I remember thinking how weird that felt. I wasn't crying, I was just repeating, "Thank you so much for coming," over and over again. So much of that day I don't even remember. There were so many people around that it was just so important to stay strong, to host, to be Kellie, and not to be the mommy who just closed the lid on her baby, never to see him again. It's weird to look back at those messages and realize that I can't remember half of the people who came up to hug me, though I know there were a ton. People. People keep us strong. Keep us sane. Keep us moving. Just keep us.

I wish I had documented more. More of you that is. I want to keep every piece of you alive in my mind (yes, that horrible image of you in the pool still fights its way to the front), but all of those pictures and stories in the baby book aren't what I remember. Those are before you really started to become you. That's one of the things Daddy and I talk about often - how you were really becoming Sawyer in the last few months you were here. You were starting to talk so much more and become such a big boy. You were getting so tall and thinning out. You weren't looking like my chubby little Bam Bam anymore, but more like my handsome little Sawyer. I'm so sorry I'll never know just how handsome you were to become. I know you would've been a heartbreaker. Nobody could deny those baby blues and blonde hair. I think that's what kept your teachers from banning you from preschool. I can remember coming to pick you up from school and as soon as I walked in the door, other kids would rush me and tattle on the silly things you did that day. I never got phone calls or "ouchy reports" though, because your teachers and I had a mutual understanding of who you were. They were so good to you. They still are. Your baby brother, Everett, is going to get to play in the sandbox that they have dedicated to you. I just hope he doesn't eat as much sand as you did.

Mommy and Daddy are officially ready, and actually becoming quite impatient, to welcome Everett into this world. We're still scared to death, we still talk about our fears of becoming parents again, but we're hopeful. We're hopeful that he brings some healing into this world with him. Logan is very excited. He feels my belly all the time and says, "Man, he's kicking up a storm." He still talks about you all the time - Heaven as well. The other day, on our way home from picking him up from school, he was clutching a picture that he and his friend Evan meticulously colored of Martin Luther King, Jr. (it was actually of President Carter, but Logan refused to believe me - even after pointing out his name on the picture), so Dr. King it was. He said that he wanted to mail it to Dr. King. I told him we couldn't because he was in Heaven. Logan said, "I know that. I want to mail it to Heaven." Oh if only. I would write ten letters every single day. I love the innocent thoughts of children. They make so much sense that reality just seems silly. Sawyer baby, I would write to you, send you kisses, send you watermelon and powdered donuts, every single day. I love you sweetheart. I miss you. I will keep your memories as strong and as close to my heart as I possibly can. Come see Mommy again. I'll be waiting for you. Forever and always. I love you to the moon and back. xoxo