Reality

If Only. I wrote in my journal recently about how fortunate I feel to be able to have this time with this baby. All too soon life will be crazy with a newborn and I will inevitably start taking for granted some of the "little things." If only I would have known and could have had the opportunity to carry our Christopher for longer, too. Don't get me wrong. I am at peace with where things are now where he is concerned. I could never choose between this child or him, yet I realize full well that I could not have had them both. My choice has always been life. I gave him life as best I could during the brief time we had. Now it is this baby's turn. I have not and will never forget those 4 months of carrying and the sacred day and a half of holding and loving my firstborn, but choose to believe that this child's life will be enhanced by the fact that he lived, not for a second as a replacement of his being. Christopher is irreplaceable, as is Madison, as is this little one. Each has filled a different place in my heart. The scar that losing Christopher has placed there will never completely heal. At times I even wonder if it is a scar at all, but rather still a gaping wound. It seems that healing has begun and then just as a scab turns to scar in the final stage of healing, the scab is ripped off by some reminder or unresolved emotion and the wound is fresh again. Somehow in this cycle of events though, there are refreshed memories of who he was. A swelling of grief followed by a wave of peace that delivers my heart from the turmoil.

Sometimes my heart dreams the dream that is my firstborn son. I wander through images of him playing and cuddling and doing all of the things that he, had he lived, might be doing today. He would be 6 months old. Learning so much and bringing smiles to our faces. I think about how we would have just celebrated our first Christmas with him and how different our lives would be.

I can only dream in the "what-if's," for they are not our reality. The "what if's" may never be, but our reality is certain. Our reality is that our very much loved and desired Christopher has died. We can't hold him, or touch him, or make new memories with him. What remains of him are contained in a tiny urn and memories in our hearts. That is our reality, and it stinks. Reality has also informed us that that hospital room on March 10 is not where our journey to becoming a family came to an end.


The "what-ifs" have plagued me once again through this pregnancy. Listing them here would only cause me to think too much about them and re-create uncertainty. Our reality in this situation is and has been from the beginning that nearly 29 weeks ago now a living, kicking, and likely ornery little one was planted under my heart. Each day it continues to grow and get stronger, and even if he/she were born today the viability rates are 90%, but there would be significant time spent in the NICU. Our reality also is that things have stabilized since baby's escape plan was thwarted. There have been essentially no changes on the ultrasound. Praise the Lord!

I recently had my first appointment with the high risk group since discharge from the hospital. As it turns out, it is also my last appointment with them. Now that we are officially in the third trimester there is nothing more that they need to do. It is up to this body of mine to cooperate and keep this baby in for as long as possible (within reason, of course!). As tradition has it, I got lost leaving. This time while wandering through the parking garage trying to find the car. The sad part? I even convinced Craig that HE was the one who was looking in the wrong place. "NO, Honey, I am SURE we parked over here..." We didn't--he was right all along. I honestly don't know why he ever listens to me anymore, other than the fact that he is probably scared that I will have a (like it would be an isolated incident) meltdown if I thought he wasn't listening.

Nothing had changed at my appointment...good news. The doctor did tell me that at 36 weeks I could pick up my activity a little. Although that is still 7 weeks away, 7 is better than 12. Before we even left the house the morning of my appointment I was exhausted. My muscles have already lost tone and were sore from just walking down a flight of stairs and to the elevator in the office. I hope that I have a little time before baby gets here to strengthen back up a little. One of the joys, I guess. Part of my tiredness was also due, in part, to the fact that I woke up at 0430 that morning when someone decided to put a little extra pressure on my bladder again. As I returned to bed after using the bathroom I started thinking about food. We had only gotten take out once since being in the hospital and had agreed to drive through McDonald's for breakfast. I was still awake at 0630 when my alarm went off trying to decide whether I wanted a breakfast burrito or an sausage mc muffin. 2 hours of deliberation over a 99 cent item? Seriously! (I went with the Mc Muffin, by the way, which I realized actually comes on an english muffin, not a biscuit, which is what I really wanted and the whole reason it wasn't a clear winning choice from the beginning.) Mc Muffin= English muffin, Biscuit=biscuit. Should be easy to remember!


It is finally starting to settle in a little bit that we are actually going to bring a baby into our lives. Even as I type that sentence it sounds a little shocking. We have waited for this phase of life for SO long, and to know that soon we will get to see, hold, raise, and love this little one is nothing short of glorious. We cannot wait. Every night as we go to bed now Craig and I talk about how we're one day closer. Closer to not a dream, but a reality that is this, our child.