A prayer for all the babies

I just haven't been able to write anything this week.  I have drafts of posts, just sitting in my dashboard.  They feel inadequate.  Impotent.  Inappropriate.  A silly picture of Laura eating ice cream, talking about how Maryland is such a different place to grow on than my own New England childhood.  But it just feels wrong.

Wrong, when I know that a beautiful person is lying in a hospital bed, praying for her little boys to survive.  To meet their darling older sister.  To be handed an ice cream cone covered in rainbow jimmies sprinkles.

Wrong, when I think back to how I was feeling halfway through this pregnancy.  Uncomfortable enough to be scared of preterm labor.  My scariest week was at 26 weeks pregnant, when Nate was out of town and every weird infection I'd experienced in the whole pregnancy seemed to be peaking. 

26 weeks was my worst, lowest point. The very thought of preterm labor at 26 weeks was scary enough.  But 18 weeks, 5 days?  My heart just aches for Diana and everything she has been going through this week.  Every day has been a miracle and a testament to her strength. 

Every day has been a reminder of how lucky I am to have nearly two healthy pregnancies under my belt.  I'll be full term tomorrow.  And while my pregnancy with Gavin hasn't been the easiest or most comfortable, it has certainly still fallen into the "healthy" and "normal" category. 

So instead of posting about crabs vs. lobster, I'm posting a little prayer for Diana and all the other mothers lying in hospitals, hoping for their babies. 

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep:
May God guard me through the night
And wake me with the morning light.

Pouring my heart out.  Completely and utterly.