Recently I woke up thinking I was in labor 2 days in a row. Turned out to be just gas pains and I had to go to the bathroom. Lovely, but it got me thinking just how close we are to meeting this little baby and it scares the living daylights out of me.
I am torn. In a way I am ready for the next chapter, to finally get to meet him, and to not be pregnant anymore. I am puffy, my hip hurts and getting out of bed 300 times a night to pee involves grunting and rolling.
But I know what giving birth means this time around. He will pass on. I will have no snuggly newborn to bring home, no cute pictures to take or funny I have been crapped on 3 times today stories to share. What I will have is a giant ass grief hole I get to try not to sink into every day.
My bag is packed, not with diapers and baby stuff, but with things to make memories in minutes with. And I have spent a small fortune on all sorts of holistic stress and grief remedies since I am not a huge fan of prescription drugs.
So we wait, and I try to fill my days with good things and good memories; finding the joy, decorating for Christmas, playing with Lenora, sewing and eating way to many bowls of ice cream.
It’s hard to believe we have made it this far, but I know in my heart I have given this little babe a chance at life, however long that may be.