Pity Party

I have been feeling a bit down this week. I have my next OB appointment coming up. I am getting blood drawn, having a regular exam, and having an ultrasound. I was also planning on visiting the birthing center and handing in my application and the paperwork that my OB signed approving me to birth there. I had it all filled out. It was in a blue folder with all of the other information I have gathered this pregnancy so far about doulas, natural birth, vitamin K injections, circumcision, etc. It's a great folder. I keep it with a purple notebook in which I have written all of the phone numbers, names, and extensive notes from interviews with four midwives, three OBs, three hospitals, and a birthing center. I've done a lot of research, and it is all contained in that folder and that notebook.

The blue folder and purple notebook have been resting safely in the second drawer on the right side of my desk.

I've been attending a hypnobirthing class the past few weeks and acquiring more worksheets and handouts, and I finally went to the store to buy a binder to put everything together. I opened the drawer two days ago to take out my all-important folder and notebook only to discover . . .

their copycats, their twins, their doppelgängers.

It is tragic and unbelievable to me, but somehow that drawer contained a different empty blue folder and a different purple notebook.

I have spent the last few days looking all over my house and vehicles for the notebook and folder that I so desperately need. The birthing center application has all of our information on it—names, maiden name, address, phone number, social security numbers, insurance numbers, everything. I feel very uncomfortable not knowing where it is.

I've looked in all the same places more than three times. I've said a lot of prayers. I've called my mother in Michigan to see if it is in her car. I've called my mother-in-law to see if it is at her house. I cannot remember the last time I saw the real folder and notebook. I am starting to wonder if I threw it away accidentally. I am feeling discouraged about having to do all of that work over again.

This inability to find them and this frustration over my pregnancy brain (I've been standing people up, forgetting appointments, etc.) all added up to making me feel a bit depressed yesterday. I got into the Halloween candy and let Jill watch two and a half hours of PBS and didn't shower or change out of my workout clothes and just moped.

I called my mom's house a second time to ask my mother to look in her truck again, but it was a Thursday evening, so she and my father were serving in the temple. My brother answered the phone, and I got to chat with him instead. After reminding me of where my mother was, he gently asked "Are you doing all right?"

And suddenly everything crashed into perspective.

Yes, I have lost a folder and notebook. Yes, it will be tedious finding those phone numbers, making those phone calls, filling out that paperwork, and performing that research. But is it replaceable? Yes.

My sweet, older brother, who was so concerned about me and didn't make me feel silly at all for being so upset about losing replaceable documents, has lost something he won't be able to "retrieve" (for lack of a better word) for a long, long time—Someone irreplaceable.

For, you see, October 30 is the one year anniversary of the Lambert Boling family losing Tabitha Grace. I know my brother asked me how I was doing, because he honestly cares about how I'm doing, but it served the dual purpose of helping me realize how small my non-tragedy really was.

So I'd better end my pity party and get to work making phone calls.