Dear baby #2,
Your due date is tomorrow. August 15th.
Almost forty weeks ago, your mama was beginning the cycle that would conceive you, and your daddy and I were so so happy to finally be trying for a second child. It took two months of trying and I remember how thrilled I was to see those two pink lines. You were my 11/11/11 wish. A little girl I didn't know asked me if I had a baby in my tummy two days before I tested positive with you, and I almost said, "Yes!" You were the baby we told friends and family about on my 30th birthday party and the timing was so perfect to surprise everyone. You were the perfect piece to finish our family.
On Valentine's Day, I threw up all over myself on the way to tutor a second grader. I was almost 14 weeks pregnant with you. That evening, your older brother split open his eyelid on our coffee table and we went the next four hours in the emergency room. I sat in the lobby, rubbing my belly, touching you to reassure myself because I was so scared about G. I didn't know at that moment you were likely already gone from me. The next day, we went in for a routine check-up, expecting to hear your heartbeat for the first time. We heard nothing.
It's only gotten worse since then, second-baby. Your mama is trying, she's trying so hard. But we lost your brother-sister in June, and I feel like this nightmare will never end. I'm tired of charting my basal temperatures and trying to have more babies. I'm tired of wondering how many more I'll have to lose before we either get our take-home baby or give up in despair. I'm tired of peeing on tests to see if they're positive or negative, or trying to figure out if every twinge in my stomach is good or bad.
On your due date, on Wednesday, we have a doctor's appointment with a specialist who will try to help us from losing more babies. I might have to have daily or twice daily shots in my stomach, which is kinda ironic considering my belly is the source of all my hope and all my sadness. I hope I can keep from crying. I hope I can keep from screaming. Because all I really want is to have you back inside me, tucked safely under my ribs. Or better yet, since your due date is tomorrow, to have you alive and well in my arms.
More than anything, I wish you were snuggled against my chest right now, and I would be typing about happier things. Maybe I would be editing pictures from your birth day. Maybe I would be dozing along with you. Maybe I would be still trying to find the breastfeeding angle that you liked best, tucking my nipple down and against your lips so you could feed for the fifth time today. I know that these wants are hopeless and impossible, but I want them nonetheless. I don't want you to feel bad about how much I still grieve for you. I know you're in such a happy place right now, and I know I'll get there eventually, but it's hard to see that perspective right now.
I hope one day that you'll forgive me for not fighting harder to hold you in my arms when you were born. You came into the world in such an awful way. I should have been awake to see you. I should have birthed you at home. My doctor did suggest at the last moment, right before they hooked up my IV, if I wanted her to get me into labor and delivery; I could have been induced and could have seen you. I could have held you. I could have taken you home with me and buried you. But I didn't. Mommy was so scared. I didn't think I could handle being in the same ward as other moms giving birth to healthy babies. I didn't think I could go through a painful miscarriage at home at 14 weeks along, so I did the D&C instead. I'm sorry I never found out if you were a boy or a girl. Or what really happened to you.
I'm sorry I wasn't stronger for you.
Second-baby, can you please give baby #3 a giant hug for me? I know you had to become an older sibling so quickly to another angel baby. But sister-brother really needs you. Mommy hasn't been able to properly grieve for them, not like I have you. I guess I'm still too stuck on missing and wanting you to attach myself to other babies right now. Please tell your sister-brother that Mommy loves them and she wanted them badly, even if maybe she hasn't talked about it much. We had such a short time together, only seven weeks, and mommy wanted so much longer.
You would be so proud of your older brother, second child of mine. He has done so well when mommy was sad and couldn't play, or when I wouldn't let him run around very much for fear he would get hurt. I feel like he understands that when I say, "Be careful please," what I really mean is "I miss your siblings."
I can't promise you to do better than I am. But I can at least promise to keep doing as well as I am. I can promise to eventually get rid of the bitterness I feel toward others and brush aside my feelings of being ignored. Not everyone understands the pain of loss, and the fact that it never goes away. I want to be more forgiving, but it's difficult to do that right now.
I miss you, child of mine. I miss you terribly. I love you, I love you, I love you.