5-22-13

The death of your baby is certainly not something to celebrate. But it was the day of her birth, too. And it doesn't seem fitting to just go about life like she never happened. So I came home with a cinnamon cake.

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Now that the newest bump is too big to hide, I've had many well wishers ask if this is my first baby. Is it? I don't think so, but I'm not entirely sure what to say. I mean, I went through the entire delivery process (I wasn't going to get to keep the kid, so I went for the epidural), even if I never got to hear her cry. Does the second child--who was gone from a chromosome defect pretty much right after we realized there was even someone in there--count? Those are the things that go through my mind when I'm silently nodding, Yes, it's my first child. These people are sharing their good wishes; it'd be cruel to bring them down.

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I hadn't heard that John Legend song "All of Me," until I was pregnant. I don't know if it's the hormones or what, but I cry every time I hear it.

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My brother has had a tougher past year than we have, if you can believe that. Everything that could go wrong, pretty much did. I try my very best to be supportive, but one time when he got really, really down, I yelled at him instead. There are so many kids out there born with a heart defect that don't make it. And he has had to fight every second of every day, but he got to be a grown man. For him to just roll over after all that would be a slap in the face to all those other kids who never got the opportunity to live.

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Jon's sisters gave me a necklace to remember Baby with a footprint charm, an emerald pendant and a gold piece stamped "5-22-13." I haven't taken it off since the day I got it.

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My mother remembered that I had been so sad when my dad let the siding-replacement people cut down the beautiful clematis plant that had grown nearly all the way to the roof on an airplane-cable trellis. She got me the same kind--and made sure we could take it with us if we ever move.

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I shouldn't be pregnant right now. Hell, I shouldn't have been pregnant three times in one calendar year. Instead, I should be sleep deprived, changing my daughter's diapers and watching her roll over. I am terrified that something is going to happen to this baby, too. But at the same time, I'm beyond excited. I can't wait to be sleep deprived. I am dying to watch my child blink, smile or roll over. But I won't forget. I am pretty sure that when the son or daughter growing inside me today (and any future children) even think about giving up, I will remind them how lucky they are to be alive. Their sister never got the chance.

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Thank you all, for your continued love and support.