3 years ago tomorrow, I suddenly stopped being 17 weeks pregnant with my first baby. It altered my entire life and changed my outlooks on nearly everything. Yes, there was pain, and there were tears, and complete abd utter anguish at times. Soon after, I began this blog, pouring my soul into the air, and starting to heal.
I’ve reread old posts, tonight, and felt the need to scrape, just a little, at old wounds, invisible now. Just a little hurt to honor the life lost. But, reading deeper, the pots became more hopeful, a little more sunny. The future began to have light and the pieces began to return to their places. So, not just a scratch to recall hurt, but I want to honor that life by remembering the hope and, eventual, happiness that emerged, that could not have been without her.
I have my rainbow, 2 years old. She’s an utter gem and my world.
And, while 3 years ago, I stopped being 17 weeks pregnant, this year, I find myself 16 weeks along.
I haven’t made this entirely public. If you know me in my personal life, keep that in mind, please. It’s not that I’m not happy, I am just instantly overwhelmed by baby talk and I shut down
So, this June, at 16 weeks pregnant, I am living a strange mirror image of that time, those years ago. Instead of November 11th, my baby is due about a week later. All the seasonal milestones hit at the same time. Spring break, track meet, summer vacation (milestones become even more obvious when one works at a school). These markers are things I had come to associate with loss.
And now I’m living the alternate path, to that mournful walk I once lead. This road, today, while, oh so familiar, feels like my road less travelled. It’s a route, with the very same weather, seasons, markers and signs.
But one in which my baby’s heart, on June 3, is still beating.
I am hopeful. I am not cocky. I don’t think I can ever have an innocent pregnancy again, certain a baby will be here before it is, but, for now, this second rainbow baby is here. And alive.