I'm a few days into week 25 with your little brother, which means this week is the week. The week I lost you. Actually, today could be the very day you died. When I went into the doctor because I hadn't been feeling you move--the day we discovered you had no heartbeat--I was 25 weeks, 5 days. The last time I know with absolute certainty that I felt you kick was a couple days before that, at 25 weeks, 2 days. I wasn't really paying attention, and I am pretty sure you were moving some the next day as well, but the last kick I can clearly remember (you jabbed me really hard in the side while I was arguing with the new internet provider people on the phone!) happened at 25 weeks, 2 days--exactly where I am today.
I am scared to death. Logically I know that 25 weeks, 2 days is just a number, but I can't help but wonder if there is something about that particular time in the fetal development process that caused things to go wrong last time (and will cause them to go wrong again).
I've just been really anxious and can't wait for this week, the week, to be over. Thankfully, I have a lot going on this week (including a girl's day with my blog friend, Leanne tomorrow!) that will hopefully keep me nice and distracted.
By the end of the week, I'll officially be the most pregnant I've ever been. Bittersweet.
Anyway, here's my 25 week belly shot (taken at Grandma and Grandpa's house):
I am feeling rather...puffy these days!
I love you, Stevie. You have no idea how badly I wish you were here to enjoy your second Christmas with your family.