Sometimes I torture myself. I grab my phone and search through all of the pictures of Sawyer, the ones that I've taken of him, and the many selfies he's taken of himself (those are my favorite). I watch the slideshow that I made of him for his service. I listen to the Taylor Swift song of "Ronan." I sit in his room and hold onto his favorite blankie. I talk to his picture on the wall. I reread some of the earlier blog posts before we had completely lost him. I bring a blanket to the cemetery and sit and read him a story.

There are times when I don't do any of this because I don't want to hurt, and then times when it feels like I can't stop myself from doing these things. I've finally just come to the realization of why I do this to myself. When I'm hurting and can't get him off of my mind, that pain is enough. When things are okay in life, however, it doesn't feel right. I think I feel guilty that I'm not hurting, so I torture myself. I know I will end this cycle one of these days, but now for I think it actually works for me. I'm not ready to not hurt anymore. I keep reading all of these amazing stories of parents who have lost a child and how they are still faithful, how they are focusing on the positive things, and how they are still finding things to be thankful for. I look up to these parents. So many people have commented on our strength, but it doesn't feel like strength. It feels like survival, and I know that just surviving is strength in itself, but it's definitely different than the bravery of the individuals who are strong enough to stay positive in everything. I look for the hurt, because it's not fair to my baby. It's not fair that we are able to move on without him. And I know this sounds very ignorant to so many of you who have followed us through this journey, and I would protest this very thought if this happened to a close friend of mine. But it hasn't. It has happened to us, to my Sawyer, and it's not fair. Whenever Logan sees me crying on the computer, he makes no comments. He knows what I'm doing. I asked him just a bit ago if it bothers him when he sees me cry. He said, "No, I understand why. When Sawyer died I cried a lot. But I was too embarrassed to cry at that place. The church when we had his funeral." I asked him why he was embarrassed and he said, "Because there were too many people. People that I didn't know." This kid right here is my strength, my survival. I love him to the moon and back. I swear he speaks like an adult with a precious little boy voice and innocence.

Sawyer, one of these days, I will write to you without replaying the could haves, should haves, and wish I hads. I opened up this blog tonight after watching a video on Facebook about a woman named Kellie Haddock and her Thank You Project. She went back and thanked every single person who helped save her babies life, even though she lost her husband. I wanted to come on here and write positive thoughts, but as soon as I opened up this blog I began reading past posts. No positive thoughts came. So maybe next time.

I will say thank you to all of you who continue to follow our little family. Every time I open this up again to write something new I see how many more views this blog has gotten. We are so aware and thankful for all of the support that people still provide for us. I often feel selfish writing on here, constantly complaining of how sad and lost I am, but this has actually been a very helpful process. Writing allows me to get it all out. I can bawl without being embarrassed and whine without feeling guilty. So thank you all for allowing and supporting my process of venting.

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

Ever since Christmas we've been living in a whirlwind. Our heater is still broken, denied by both home insurance and home warranty insurance since it was due to flooding. So we're finally just sucking it up and forking out the cost to get it fixed. It's chilly around here. Sawyer would have never noticed the difference though. He was always on the go, and never cared much for clothing regardless of the weather. One of my favorite pictures is of him playing out on the back hill, with the hose going so a mud slide was made of course, in his little boxer briefs. I loved that little tushy. It seemed that every time he went outside fully clothed, he came back in naked and I would have to go on a clothing scavenger hunt before the dogs destroyed or devoured anything. We've definitely lost more socks to the dogs than the clothes-eating dryer.

Ella, our female golden, had puppies last week. That was stressful in itself since I wasn't sure if she was going to know how to take care of her little guys (yes I'm aware that dogs have been doing this for centuries), but it's different when it's your dog I guess. She had a litter of 10 and 9 have survived. I tried the whole "101 Dalmations rubbing him on the back" business, but no Disney miracles happened here. Logan doesn't know that any died. He would just focus on that. Every since Sawyer's passing he has had an obsession with death and Heaven. I don't know if it's just his age, the fact that he's a boy and finds interest in all things dark and grotesque, or if our experience is the root of it all. Either way, he's happily naïve in believing that Ella has safely and securely delivered 9 healthy puppies. I was thinking the other day how I could just imagine Sawyer sitting down on the floor with one of the puppies in his lap, loving taking care of something smaller than him. And then reality kicked in and I then imagined him getting distracted, standing up, letting the puppy fall to floor and possibly trampling the little pup as he ran out of the room. Sawyer loved, but he loved hard, and on his terms only. That thought made me smile. Sawyer was all boy, as I've said many times, and while he had the biggest heart, loving to help out, loving to cuddle with me and hold my hand, if anything "better" came along, he was up and after it. All boy.

We had our baby shower yesterday. I really do have the best friends and family members in the world. Other than having to survive for Logan, our friends and family are what have really pulled us through this. Oh, and we finally decided on a name for the baby: Everett Sawyer Pennino. Logan is still pushing for Wyatt, but we've pretty much convinced him to start calling the baby Everett. As I've mentioned many times before, we are hoping that Everett has some piece of Sawyer in him, and so far he does. For one, this little guy is a mover and a shaker. He never stops rolling, kicking, or punching. He is most active the second I sit or lie down, which tells me how much sleep we are definitely not going to get. Along with being a busy body like Sawyer, he is apparently going to be just as difficult, keeping us on our toes. My pregnancies with both Logan and Sawyer were both so easy. I've never been crazy about gaining 50 lbs and all of the discomfort that goes along with being pregnant, but regardless, everything was relatively smooth and simple with both. Everett, however, has been giving us scares since the beginning. All of our little complications in the beginning we chalked up to stress and emotions. At the beginning of this week, however, I woke up to some bleeding (not hemorrhaging by any means, but blood all the same). I emailed the doctor, went to work, and waited for them to call. After a few rounds of phone tag, we finally spoke and she told me to come in right away instead of waiting for my scheduled doctor's appointment that was the very next day. I had also been having a lot of lower abdominal pressure and discomfort for the last few days. Well as it turns out, I have a "friable cervix" (gross, right?) which apparently just means that I have a heavy collection of blood vessels on the exterior of my cervix which can be very sensitive and bleed easily. Either way, it's not effecting the baby at all. So that was good news. However, then it turns out that all that pressure I was feeling was actually contractions. Go figure. As soon as the doctor said, "you're contracting," my body went into delivery mode and the contractions became stronger (to where I could actually tell what they were) and all the other wonderful bone and muscle pains that go along with labor decided to kick in. So to make a long story longer, they ended up keeping me overnight and giving me two doses of some muscle relaxer that finally got my contractions to stop. So while I'm not on bedrest, which my family is very disappointed about, I'm still trying to take it easy (which really doesn't mean much, because my version of easy is apparently a lot different from most). And besides, when you're so darn big that sitting down actually hurts more than standing up, you go where less pain is.

So that little trip to the hospital just confirmed that our Everett is not going to be that easy going baby that Logan was, but instead the always-on-the-go baby that Sawyer was. Which is okay with me. It also made me realize that I'm totally not ready for this delivery yet. Not only do I not have a bag packed or other things set up, but I really need to get my toenails taken care of and shave more often! I guess it couldn't hurt to put the carseat in the car as well. Doctors say my due date is March 19, but there's just no way. So we're estimating it to be more like March 7, and after our little hospital escapade, the fact that I'm gigantic, and the fact that everyone is telling me I'm starting to look pretty low (though clearly not offfically dropped yet), I'm thinking our little Everett is gonna come sooner than later. Sooner is always good, as long as he's healthy. We just can't be in and out of the hospital again. We had a few moments of shear terror, thinking the worst. If something happened to our little guy, I'm far enough along to where I'd still have to deliver. We can't bury another baby. We have changed, but can still function. If we had to do that again, we just wouldn't be the same. Strength has its boundaries, and ours has been stretched to that borderline. But fortunately those thoughts only lasted briefly. The baby is still healthy, still kicking like crazy, and still has a strong heartbeat. He's already
 a fighter. 

So that has been our life in a nutshell these last couple of weeks. Sawyer is always on our minds, but I haven't had any real breakdowns since Christmas. This is actually the first blog post I've been able to write without bawling my eyes out as well. 2015 hasn't really started off fabulously, but I hope that it brings with it some healing. It's been 7 months. 7 months. 7 months of after June 9. We are still here loving and missing you baby. Forever and always, your mommy wants you home. <3 <3<3