I think the bubble of pregnancy-related fear I’ve been wrapped in since losing you is becoming slightly more transparent.
I used to spend hours every week reading up on loss stories. Grasping to the reality I could lose your brother so hard it incorporated itself into my flesh and became part of who I was, woven into my personal narrative and explored to every limit. All I knew of pregnancy came from you. Pregnancy = terror, loss, pain, unemployment, sadness, suffering.
As I sit here typing, your brother kicks me so hard other parts of my body not directly touching my belly jiggle. It’s like he’s saying, “Relax, ma, I’m here, and here, and here. Tee hee hee!”
My mom recently bought me two little statues. Two baby boys, placed sitting next to each other. These are my two sons. Henry and Coming Soon. They look so similar. They spent the entirety of both their lives so far inside me.
Today, I closed a blog post on pregnancy loss that I was in the middle of reading. I felt very strongly that I didn’t need to finish this poor woman’s story. I felt like I removed the umbrella from over my head to see that it had stopped raining. The sky is far from blue. Thunderclouds threaten along the horizon, ready to dump the storm of the century on my weak head so that I can sit there, sobbing into the downpour, lamenting that I knew all along that this was going to happen. But it’s not happening right now.
These kicks to my ribs make me smile, and if I look back to childhood singsongs, smiles are like human manifested sunbeams. (Ugh, yep, I went there. Can I have some crackers for this cheese?)
So, with a little over two months to go, I sit here, watching my belly do its own rhumba while a tiny dancer grows inside. And I let go of the fear that has the tendency of overtaking my life. And I look for positive things to read up on for pregnancy. Reinforce those brain pathways instead of constantly strengthening the easier jumbly road of frenzied panic.