Here we are, in love again. Everett Sawyer Pennino was born March 15th at 9:04 am. He was 8 lbs, 1 oz and 21" long. Very similar to the boys. We kept waiting to hear some kind of bad news, but he is perfect. Absolutely perfect. He has a great temperament and is healthy as can be. The birth was very fast and very easy, but a little emotional, as we expected. All was fine until he was placed in my arms. So much emotion came flooding in, and before I knew it, I was in tears, along with Matt and both of our moms. It was instant love for this perfect little man, mixed with excitement that he was finally here, relief that he was healthy, fear for the responsibility of keeping him safe, and remorse that only Logan gets to meet and hold him. I told myself so many times that when the time came I would just be in the moment and enjoy the birth and coming of baby Everett. I wouldn't focus on what has happened or let the fear of bringing another baby into the world overcome me. Easier said than done. It's so hard to look at this little man and not focus on how fragile he is. I can't take my eyes off of him. I will be raising a very spoiled, high maintenance boy - I cannot seem to put him down either. Just when I do, I immediately miss him in my arms. He has already brought so much happiness into our home. Logan absolutely loves him and wants to sit and hold him often. Each time he does he asks questions about Sawyer and how he was as a baby. I tell Logan that Everett is much more like him than Sawyer. Logan was very quiet and calm as a baby (which is no reflection of him now), while Sawyer came out kicking and screaming and never stopped.

The other day Matt and I were inside watching a movie, holding Everett, while Logan played in the back with the sprinklers. All of a sudden I heard his voice yell, but couldn't tell if he was yelling for us or just yelling. I immediately jumped off the couch without saying anything and went to the back door. Then I heard Logan yell "Mommy!" in a scared voice. I ran out back and screamed for him. He was right there on the patio. He was leaning over in one of the patio chairs and it tipped over and landed on him. He wasn't injured at all and could have easily lifted the chair off of himself (he is a bit dramatic at times), but nevertheless, he was lying there on the patio, tears on his face, calling for me. As soon as I realized he was alright and we got him inside and cuddled on my lap, I noticed that I was shaking, trying to hold back tears. I was scared, my heart pounding. The thought of Logan out there, crying for me, waiting and not knowing if I was going to hear him, just rushed in. All my thoughts and fears of Sawyer's struggle, wanting Mommy and Mommy not answering happened all over again. Every time that I think things are okay, we're doing fine, something happens that reminds me of how we've changed inside. We're subtly different, but have forever changed. I'm always calm in tense or stressful situations, so the fact that I was literally shaking, trying not to cry over this was just so surprising to me. So now I struggle with the idea that it's impossible to have eyes everywhere. How do I make sure that my boys are always safe? My mind is always filled with horrible thoughts. Everett has a gag reflex because he likes to mimic sucking while he sleeps, so I am constantly scared he is going to choke while I'm asleep or while he's facing backwards in the carseat. Logan went to Disneyland yesterday and I kept thinking about the potentially dangerous drive out there, the crowds of people that he could get lost in. It's exhausting, but I can't help it. You really never think horrible things can happen until they do. Then you just seem to expect them to keep happening. I guess if anything good comes of this it's the fact that we're so paranoid now that we think ahead to the potential danger. Either way though, we've been forced to realize how short life can be and it's just scary.

So as Everett sleeps on my chest and Logan sits next to us watching Scooby Doo, I kiss them, tell them both I love them and promise myself that nothing will happen to them. They will grow up, graduate, get married, and have happy, healthy kids themselves. They will be old and gray (or bald with our family genes), and be able to look back on their long lives with happiness. This is my goal.

Logan's first words upon waking this morning:

Logan: "Mommy, what was the last kiss you gave Sawyer?"
Me: "I wish I could remember Honey. I'm sure I gave him kisses that morning, but I know at least he got night night kisses the night before. I think I kissed him when he asked me to take off his floaties after lunch, because I remember being so proud of him for saying 'Off, peez.' His talking was getting pretty good."
Logan: "My last kiss to him was at the funeral."
Me: "Oh, well then yes, mine too. We all kissed him before we left the church. Then we kissed his casket too before we left the gravesite."
Logan: "Can we visit Sawyer today? And drive by the zebras on the way? And bring him something again? Can I give him some of my geodes to decorate his grave?"
Me: "Of course we can Honey. You've never asked to go visit him before. How come he's on your mind this morning? Did you have a dream?"
Logan: "No, I just woke up thinking about him. I wish he was alive. I miss Sawyer."

Me too baby, me too. I can't believe I haven't written in a month. Sometimes I think about stopping writing, but other times I realize that I have to keep writing. Keep getting thoughts and feelings out. I like that Logan thinks about him, misses him, still loves him. He normally doesn't like going to the gravesite with me because he doesn't like seeing me cry, so after he cleans off Sawyer's grave and sits with me for a bit, he runs around and chases the squirrels. This little routine is perfect because I like to talk to Sawyer alone. I almost always say the same things, but I still like having my one-on-one time with him. Last time we were there I noticed another headstone for the first time. One family lost their first baby in the womb when his umbilical cord got tied around his foot, and then they lost their second baby to SIDS three months after she was born. I don't know how so many parents do this. I especially don't know how they are able to physically, mentally, or emotionally do this more than once. Once takes everything from you. Rips the deep and true happiness from you. You can laugh and have a good time again, but there's always that underlying grief. That guilt that you're smiling after such tragedy. And do I expect to mope around for the rest of my life? Of course not, but happiness won't ever really, truly be the same. It's impossible to ever remove this scar from our hearts, to ever just focus on the good times. Matt and I talk about Sawyer often, and both of us agree that we can't remember the great times with him without reliving that one single week with him. One of the memories with him came to me the other day after Matt sneezed. We were all sitting at the table one night, and Matt sneezed. Sawyer said, "Bess you Daddy." We both feel like that was the point in which he began to really talk, and not do so much gibberish. It was simple, but so cute that it's one of the memories we'll always take with us. I hate that we never got the chance to really see him grow, speak, and turn into the little man he would have been.

Everett Sawyer Pennino is just days away from coming. We are so excited, yet still so scared. What if something, anything, bad happens again? It's hard to ever get that thought out of our heads. I asked Logan if he wanted to be in the room when Everett is born (up by my head not able to really see much of course), but he said no. I was surprised by this because he is such a curious kid. So when I asked him why, he said, "There will be too much blood. It's too scary. Besides, Peepa can take me fishing while Everett's being borned." This kid. Always makes me laugh. I started wondering why he thought there'd be so much blood, and then I remembered that he saw Ella and the room after she delivered her first puppy. He didn't ask to come in and see any more after he saw that. There was a ton of blood, so I think that's what he associates birth with now. Logan asks all the time if Everett could go to Heaven. Of course we say no, that nobody else is going to Heaven. Sawyer has all the friends, powdered donuts, bananas and watermelon he could ever need up there. He will wait patiently for the rest of us to be old and wrinkled. So Logan's response is always, "Like Nana? She's really, really old. Like a hundred!" That always makes me smile and laugh. He always knows how to lighten to mood.

So we'll visit Sawyer today, get a good cry out, and continue to count the days until baby Everett comes along. We'll tell Sawyer about all the good homes we've sent the puppies off too, about Ella's scary sickness (she had a really bad uterine infection - though we'll leave the details out for Sawyer), and about Jake's upset tummy with the new dog food we bought. Sawyer will laugh when we tell him about Jakes' stinky farts and loud burps. He always laughed so hard when he farted, and would wave his hand in front of his nose and say, "Oh, stinky." Of course we'd try to teach some etiquette, but it's always hard to do when you're laughing along with him. We'll tell him that it's supposed to snow here again on Monday, though the rain hasn't been that hard and it really hasn't been that cold either, so we'll see. Logan wants to bring him some snow to make a snowman for his grave if it does snow. What a great and sweet idea. We'll tell him all about the flowers blooming in the backyard. He loved smelling flowers, which is what started his dandelion fascination. The trees are in full bloom, just like when we first moved in here. It's been almost a year since we moved into this house, and almost nine months since we've lived here with just the three of us. Sawyer never even got to spend a summer, fall, or winter here. I love this house, but I always think about what life would be like if we had gotten into a different house. I don't believe that things happen for a reason, so I do believe that Sawyer would still be here with us if we lived somewhere else. I just wish we could turn back time. Every day I have this same wish. Logan often says, "I wish we could snap our fingers and whatever we wanted would be here. I would say, I wish Sawyer was alive, and snap, he'd be right here." Again, me too baby, me too. Finally, we'll tell Sawyer how much we miss him, how much we love him, and how sorry we are. I'll rub his hair and his cheek on his little gravesite picture and tell him, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be. To the moon and back." I always end with those words even though they're so painful because of how true they are. I am still living, and he will always be my baby because he'll never get the chance to grow up. I love that book, but can't ever read that line without crying now.

I love you baby. We will see you soon.

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

Well our first Christmas without you has come and gone. The actual day was surrounded by family so it wasn't too hard. The morning, however, watching Logan open up all of his gifts, not having to read the labels to decide if they were for you or for him was hard. We brought the stockings up the night before to watch Logan open up his stocking stuffers in bed when he awoke. I thought this was a cute idea until we walked downstairs and I saw your empty stocking still hanging. I will always hang yours for you, but seeing it hanging there so empty is not easy baby. I had to take it down today so I wouldn't keep staring at it. After Logan finished opening his gifts and began playing with them, Daddy and I started talking, wondering what we would have bought for you this year, wondering what you would have been playing with most Christmas morning, and finally wondering how many of Logan's toys you would have broken by now.

We went to visit with you on Christmas Eve. There were so many beautiful decorations set around the baby section. It just doesn't seem right that so many parents have had to bury their babies. So many people have tried to offer comfort in the idea that you're spending Christmas in Heaven this year, but it doesn't help. We are here without you and you are elsewhere without us. It's been said so many times that there is nothing stronger than the love of a mother for her children. This I believe. This is why it doesn't matter where you are - you're not here with me and that cannot be justified or cured by any thought or belief. It just can't.

I just read another story of a little girl who went under the water during her bath for too long. Her mom and dad went through the same highs of hopes and lows of realizations that we did for a week at Loma Linda as well. I wonder if she had the same nurses that you did. That must be the hardest job in the world. I couldn't face that day in and day out - even the ones they save couldn't possibly make up for watching little angels like you fade away. Having to watch the parents walk out of the room for the last time would never get easier. I still see you lying in that bed. I kept imagining you opening your eyes, looking at me and smiling, then crying because you would have hated all those tubes everywhere. I remember lying next to you in that bed, singing your favorite lullaby, and then your hand twitched. I froze, thinking for sure that you heard me. You were reacting to me. You were waking. But then your vitals went crazy and the nurses had to come in and adjust your medication because your body was failing. So many false hopes.

I'm sorry to relive this again sweetheart, it's so hard not to though. This has been such an emotional month, just constantly wondering what you would be doing, how many words you'd be saying by now. It's simply not right that you can't sit here and cuddle under this blanket with me. I want you here. I want you to feel your baby brother kicking and moving around. Guess what else? Ella is going to have puppies soon too. Two pregnant mommies in the same house. It's going to get pretty crowded around here, and the answer is no - Logan has already asked to keep them. Hopefully we'll find homes for all of the puppies before your baby brother comes around. I love you Sawyer. I will come visit you again on New Year's Day. I will bring one of your favorite books and we can talk more about the puppies and how Ella is doing. I love you baby. Forever and always. xoxo

I look at this picture now and think about how lively you were. Always being a goof and making us laugh. I also think about how I'm pretty sure your cheeks are covered in either food or dirt in every picture I've ever posted of you. My boy. I miss you so.

Hi baby. I hope you're looking down on all of the Christmas lights around and smiling. I know how much you loved Christmas time. We finally decorated the inside of the house - haven't gotten around to the outside yet, and not really sure if we're going to. It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit this year. It was even harder pulling out the boxes of Christmas decorations and finding all of your special things. We have your handprint ornament that you made at the Learning Zoo last year hanging from the tree. We also put the teddy bear that Loma Linda Hospital gave to you when you were first admitted on the tree. I remember clinging to that little bear all the way home from the hospital after we kissed you goodbye for the last time. Gosh I wish I could just climb back into that bed with you to run my fingers through your hair, kiss your rosy cheeks, and rub the back of your pudgy little hand. Better yet, I wish I could climb in my own bed and do those things with you. We have your naughty and nice Christmas pictures hanging in the window and your mistle'toes' on the counter. I still remember painting the bottom of your foot to get those perfect mistletoes - you laughed so hard because it tickled. I was so proud of you for waiting for me to finish with your brother's footprint before I could clean your perfect little foot off. I miss your feet. Chunky little flat feet with sausage toes. So perfect.

Tomorrow we're going to take our first official family pictures since you left. It's going to be hard, but I hope we can make it through without any breakdowns in public - I like to save those for behind our four walls. Since there are no fields of dandelions around, we'll have an orange balloon with us to make sure that apart of you makes it into this picture. We're going to go up to Oak Glen, where you used to love running around outside and seeing all the peacocks and reindeer. We won't be going to your favorite spot though - no need for the candy shoppe tomorrow.

Your baby brother is doing well. He's getting big and kicking like crazy. He might even be more active than you - that's a scary thought, isn't it? We just want him to be here already. We need to be able to hug and love him like we did you. We need to be able to look into his eyes and know that in some mysterious way, he is only here because of you. My angel Sawyer. You were such a bruiser, but always so helpful and so giving. Your big brother is doing well too. He's enjoying first grade, but he misses you too. He talks about you often. He decorated your little room Christmas tree for you too. He made sure to put your snowman and train ornament on it, and even gave you some jingle bells. Remember the little horse and buggy decoration that you dropped and broke last year? Well we finally found the horse's head this year. Not that it did any good since we threw it away last year, but at least we answered the mystery as to where it went. It was stuck in one of the other town decorations. We looked forever for it last year. Logan makes sure he kisses your picture and tells you goodnight every time we go up to bed. He even started rubbing your cheek and pretending he's rubbing your hair like Mommy does too. We all miss you. We have your stocking up, but don't know what to put in it this year. I won't be able to look at it empty while the others are full, so Mommy and Daddy will be sure to get you something special. Logan wants to make you a present too.

We love you honey. We all miss you so much. I wish more than anything that you were here this Christmas with us. It just won't be the same. Daddy has to work Christmas Eve this year too, so if you could come visit me I would love that. I don't want to be lonely that night. It'll be hard as it is. I know that this is going to be one of the bigger challenges that we have had to face since you've gone, so help Mommy, okay? You were always my big helper, and I know I asked so much of you that final week in the hospital, but I'm going to ask for your help again. Come tell me Merry Christmas and that you love me. Please, baby. I love you. So much. Merry Christmas Sawyer. My sweet baby.