First, dealing with news of the Babe... no news. My body is getting serious about Braxton Hicks contractions, which of course I am pleased about. Perhaps my cervix is getting the message, too.
As each day passes, and we get closer to our goal, the more I realize that I am terrified that it won't happen. My only is experience with pregnancy is this: you get pregnant after months and months of trying, you do everything right, you have great doctors, you carry to term, you go into labour, you show up at the hospital, they tell you your baby is dead.
Something hard to just leave behind you.
On the surface, I feel certain that I will bring a real, living baby into our house and life will allow us to be parents to a living child. But underneath it all lies that whispering despair that will not be silenced: it won't happen, it's not possible, it is all a dream, don't fool yourself.
I knew these days would be hard. Advance notice of hardship, however, does not negate the emotions themselves, nor the difficulty that I have in facing them.
C.'s birthday is this weekend. Of course, much of the heaviness and worry I am experiencing is related to that anniversary.
Two years ago today, he was still alive. We had done a biophysical profile, where he didn't exhibit practice breathing movements. Scored 8/10 on the BPP. Not to worry, we were assured by all the doctors that we saw. Some babies don't do it all the time. A sign of fetal immaturity, nothing more.
Perhaps that was true. Perhaps it was a red herring. Perhaps his death was in no way connected with that missing link. Perhaps it should have been the red flag.
Where is my two year old? He is gone. In fact, he's only ever existed in my mind. I can see the blond little curls as clearly as if he were standing in front of me. Blond curls that he never had a chance to grow.
I am working feverishly on finishing the blanket I am knitting for the Babe. Yes, Catherine, I will post photos as soon as I am done. :)
I am almost panicked about finishing this blanket. I didn't finish C's blanket. We buried it with him. I came home from the hospital, we went and bought an outfit in which to bury our boy, and then I sat down to cast off the final stitches in the middle of that unfinished blanket. I thought I had all the time in the world to finish it for him. A lifetime to finish it. In some ways it was appropriate - an unfinished blanket for a boy who didn't even get to start his life.
Obviously, today I write from a place full of melancholy and loss. No doubt, my mood will change 6 times today, let alone this week.
Please, if you are the praying type, I would appreciate if you sent a little request into The Great Beyond that this baby make his/her grand appearance on any day but C's birthday. That would be a small mercy for my soul.