Yesterday we lost our baby.
In the past when I’ve heard something like that I’ve thought “Where, Walmart?” and congratulated myself on the cold heartedness of my wit.
But today we lost our baby, not in the supermarket, but in a more visceral way. Bloody, painful, prolonged, fearful, anxious and excruciating.
It was a baby that was wanted. A baby that was planned for, a baby that had us planning names and nurseries and ways to tell people when the time was right. This was the baby that brought us back from Montreal just beaming. It was our baby. And we couldn’t quite believe it. A baby that had come into being against all of the odds and could, surely, survive any odds because of it. But you can’t will a baby into the world.
So now what we have are a few blissfully happy days, a baby journal lovingly filled in right up to the day that our baby was no more and each other. Which is more than most but less than we’d hoped for.
And so if we’re not around for a few days, or if we don’t seem quite ourselves, or if we’re not at the party, or the restaurant or the gym you know why. We’re just letting this sink in.