Day 17

We did Easter baskets for the kids on Sunday, and they both got a little jar of bubbles. Guess what? Ender loves bubbles. He eats them. It’s pretty hilarious, and I was going to post a video of it, but then today ended up being so depressing that I thought I’d share my sad life with you some more.

It seems like Wednesdays and Sundays are the hardest days for me – Sundays because I see lots and lots of little babies at church, and Wednesdays because then it’s “x¬†weeks until.” I hate finishing the sentence. Until I hold my baby. Until my baby dies. Until I leave the hospital empty-handed.

I don’t feel angry or like this is an unfair situation, but I do feel jealous of all the parents who are expecting healthy babies. If things had gone differently, and Tiny Baby had been a healthy girl, I was going to sew a blessing gown. Now we’ve had a generous offer of a handmade burial gown.

Most of the time it’s so easy for me to discuss the situation calmly and, to a large extent, unemotionally. But then the hurt catches up with me and all I can think is

I want my baby.
I want my baby.
I want my baby.

But in 3 weeks, my baby will be gone.