On June 29, 2012, I woke up and was scared. He wasn't moving! He always moves in the morning. June 29 . . . The year before on June 29 I went into labor with the twins.
He wasn't moving!
I got up, moved around, changed position, went downstairs for some water, laid back down . . . nothing!
Over an hour later, he started moving in all his crazy glory.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
Two weeks ago, at almost six and a half months pregnant, I started cramping, feeling a tightness that would come and go in my lower abdomen, intense lower back pain, and pressure. So much pressure.
Even after being in labor three separate times, I still wasn't for sure if this was labor or if it was the changes that occur with pregnancy.
I tried resting, feet up, warm showers, fluid, but nothing was diminishing the pain.
I called my doctor and she got me right in.
She did a thorough examination. Everything was fine. I was to take it easy for a few days.
I kept reminding myself of the age of viability. He was there now. A bigger milestone than that foolish 12 week one where everything is supposedly safe after that mark. When is anything safe? Who decided that after 12 weeks gestation, the baby was safe?
But who wants their baby born too early? Who wants to see them struggle under the weight of all that life-saving medical equipment?
I didn't need to remind myself that babies die. I know that they do.
And that's a fear. A very realistic fear.
It's a struggle. This whole pregnancy. I second guess everything. Every twinge. Every ache.
It's a struggle to prepare. We did go into that room two weeks ago. That room that our sweet identical twin girls would sleep had become a four letter word and then a storage space. We went into that room and started cleaning out. I started with all those girl blankets. I moved them and then I started weeping. We still have a room to clean out. It's a struggle.
I want to reach the end of this pregnancy. For so many reasons. I want the end to be here. I need to know the outcome now. I need to know that I will get to hold this baby. That I will get to feed him. That I will get to secure him in his car seat and take him home. That I will awake in the stillness of the night to his cries and get to comfort him.
The heart automatically guards against a hurt that caused everything to shatter. I shouldn't be judged. No mother who has lost a child should be judged for the way the heart guards.
It's a struggle when all innocence has been lost.