For about a month after you died, it was so hard for me to believe that I was no longer pregnant. I would forget. I'd put on a shirt, look in the mirror, and literally do a double-take, so surprised to see no belly bump in my reflection. I'd reach into the kitchen cabinet for my Prenatal DHA supplements, sometimes even open the bottle, before realizing I had no reason to take them anymore. Someone would offer me a glass of wine and I'd almost say, "oh, no thanks, I'm pregnant," before realizing, "oh, wait...I'm not."
Now, almost two months have gone by (seriously--how it that possible??), and it is so hard for me to believe that I was ever pregnant at all. Those six months of my life seem so surreal now, like they couldn't have actually happened. Every Sunday, I think "I should be ____ weeks pregnant today." This Sunday, I should be 35 weeks pregnant. I say "should be," but it doesn't really feel that way. I mean, yeah, I "could be" 35 weeks pregnant, if those clots wouldn't have formed in your umbilical cord. But they did. I "would be" 35 weeks pregnant, if you wouldn't have died. But you did.
I'm not sure how to explain this, but it almost feels "right" that I'm not pregnant today. Please don't take that the wrong way. Obviously, it's not what I wanted, but I can't really imagine it any other way. Lately I try to imagine what it would feel like to be 35 weeks pregnant and about to pop, and it just seems so...weird. So strange and unreal. Like I'm trying to imagine what it would feel like to go up in outer space or something.
I can't even begin to comprehend what it would be like to actually have a living baby right now. A friend I was on the August birth board with just announced today that her water broke. She's 37 weeks. About to have her baby. I saw the news and yeah, it made me a little sad, but mostly it just made me feel so disconnected. I thought, "wow, I wonder what that would even feel like, driving to the hospital, knowing you're about to meet your baby. That must be so exciting." I was so close to knowing what it would feel like, but now, it just seems so out-there. So distant.
I hate that the only drive to the hospital I have ever experienced was the one where we drove in silence, knowing we were about to see our baby for the first time, but knowing you would already be dead when when we got to meet you. People say things all the time like, "I can't imagine how it would feel to lose a child." Well, I can't imagine how it would feel to not lose a child.
All I can do, I guess, is hope and pray that one day, I get the chance to know what it's like to pack my bag, drive to the hospital, deliver a screaming baby, look into her* eyes, and know she's mine to keep. I have no idea what that's like, but I'm sure it's absolutely magical.
I love you so much, Baby. I can't believe tomorrow will mark two months since the first and last time I held you. It seems like just yesterday, and an entire lifetime away, all at the same time. I miss you everyday.
*I say "her," but I would be perfectly content with a living "him," too. Just wanted to throw that out there, in case God/the Universe/whoever decides these things is reading. I'll gladly take whatever I can get, baby-wise. :)
2 hours ago