Monday, February 24, 2014

Dear Oliver

Dear Oliver,

It has been 288 days since we lost you. It isn't a particularly significant chunk of time. In fact, I had to look it up to find out the exact number. Somehow the number doesn't seem very important anymore. the difference between yesterday and 50 years doesn't seem to matter. What does matter is what we have missed together, but there is no point in adding it up. I don't need the subtotal of what I have missed so far, because I know the sum at the end. A lifetime. All. Everything.

Somedays it feels like it was stolen from me. Like you were stolen from me. I find myself wondering about the what ifs. Would you be 9 and a half months old today? That is how long it has been since I delivered you. Or would you have stayed put until your due date. Would you be 7 and a half months old today? How big would you be? Would you have hair yet? What songs would you like? I can't even miss those things because I will never know, so it feels like I lost them all. Every baby you could look like. Every life you could have had.

The only thing I know for certain is how much I love you, because fat or skinny, bald or hairy, no matter what I would love you. Alive or dead. It doesn't change, not after 288 days, not after all the days.

All my love,

Monday, February 3, 2014

You don't have to tell me.

BabyCenter, you don't have to tell me.
I don't need to look at your description of what a baby looks like at 31 weeks. I know he has a perfect beautiful face. I know he is so big compared to that little speck, or poppy seed we saw on the first ultrasound, but still so small. I know he is long, and not very fat. That he has perfect little fingernails. Perfect tiny hands. Perfect tiny feet.

This week I don't need a description.
 I know what it feels like to hold a baby that size. I know that his skin is soft, and delicate. That there is just enough fat in his cheeks to make them perfect. That his little bum is so tiny. That his chin, and nose, and legs, and ears have already decided which side to take after.

You don't have to tell me about the kicks. That there will be more, and that I should be feeling them all the time. I'm aware of every second that the baby isnt kicking. The poor thing probably just wants to sleep, and here is me, drinking cold water and poking my belly, just so I can be sure.

From here out it is all new. I won't know next week, what to expect at 32 weeks. But anything is better than numb. And empty.

All the back pain and round ligament pain, and heartburn. The possible insulin shots, and stretch marks, and running (waddling) for the bathroom, all of it is so much infinitly better than chosing a funeral home. Choosing an urn. Saying goodbye.

Next week you can tell me. About how fat he is getting. and how he will continue to change. But this week, I don't need to read it. This week I know.