It was a warm day here yesterday - in the 80's. T and I spent the day doing little chores that have been waiting on an invisible list. He installed our rain barrel. We fixed D's changing table so we'll actually be able to use it for the new little person. I mowed the lawn. T spread some dirt and I sprinkled grass seed to try to nurse our pathetic lawn back to life. We did laundry. We took a walk with D. You get the picture. It was a full day.
I realized in the afternoon that I hadn't really felt the baby move during the day. I quickly reminded myself that since *I* had been moving around all day, it would have been hard to feel the baby move. Nonetheless, I found myself poking my belly in the afternoon, trying to get a response. After D was happily in the tub getting a bath from daddy, I went upstairs to take a shower, all the while planning that after my shower I would lie down on the bed to see what was going on with the little one.
When I lay down on the bed, there was kicking and jabbing and general mayhem from the inside, as I had (mostly) expected that there would be. But... I was reminded, as I often am, that the fear is still there. It doesn't matter that I brought a healthy baby to full term once before. It doesn't matter that everything looks fine on every ultrasound. I am still, and always will be, the mother of three dead babies. And for two of them, I'll never know why.
Mengatasi Aborsi Aman
1 year ago