Am I having a baby shower? NO
Have I picked out the nursery decor? Again, the answer is NO.
Where will I deliver, am I having an epidural? I will deliver at the same hospital where I delivered my other son. Where I delivered my dead son. Usually, that's enough to stop the pregnancy questions.
I know these are all part of the pregnancy interrogation, and they are not ill intentioned questions, but they bug me. I want to scream, "I'm freaking terrified, I'm afraid of this baby dying as well, I don't really know if this baby will live!" I had the baby shower last time, I had the nursery decor picked out and he still died. I know those things are not important. What's important, my sanity for starters. Controlling my gestational diabetes, monitoring my blood pressure, ask me about that.
The other day at work, one of the very pregnant respiratory therapists, came down and I cowered. I hid, I didn't want to see her nor did I want her to see my bump. I've been doing this a lot more, in public I hide my pregnant belly. Am I ashamed, no, I'm just trying to protect myself. I don't know if this makes sense, but I don't want people to see me pregnant again and ask me questions about this pregnancy, and if the unimaginable happens I don't want to explain why I don't have a living baby again. I know I sound crazy huh.
As my sister asked me a couple weeks ago, am I not happy. Well, of course I'm happy. I love this little girl so much. Of course I do she is my little girl, my little Lauren. Yes, I do get excited and actually let my mind go there, to the possibility that she will live. But, then my grief kicks in, the doubts, the fear all of it, it comes crashing down and I go back to my reality. I have already lost a son, he's dead and I'm not immune to the same thing happening again.
I am praying that this doesn't happen again. I am hopelessly in love with her. She is quite the kicker and mover. I am amazed with her movement. I love her, and love feeling her move inside. I have life again growing in my womb. But, I am scared, my womb proved to be a deadly tomb for Ethan. My body killed Ethan. I don't want it to happen again, actually that is an understatement I am begging my body, the universe, God to stop it from happening again. I am approaching 22 weeks this weekend, just 10 weeks before my world came crashing down on me last time. It is a constant countdown, 16-15 more weeks before I can be induced. But, will I make it? And Ethan's birthday is quickly approaching, May 23rd. It will be one year since I said Hello and Goodbye to Ethan. One year since I met him, held him, marveled at his beautiful face, his beautiful nose, his head full of black curls. There are times when I want to go back to that day, just to be able to hold him again. I wish I could go back to that day to take a picture of his feet, I saw them and I have footprints of his feet, but I never took a picture of his toes, his tiny feet.
The other day, I was able to talk about Ethan's birth without crying. I found myself wanting to tell Ethan's birth story. Someone made a comment about my pain tolerance and this impending birth and I stopped her in her tracks and reminded her that I have been through labor before. I labored to bring Ethan into this world, yes he was born, silently he was born into my awaiting arms. I've been through it before. I had given birth. Although, I didn't push him out, no he was taken from my womb, just the same way he was taken from us.