I have some time today. Miss K is over at grandma’s bouncing around in the pool.
So, Im cleaning.
And when I was moving some things to the garage, a bag fell out.
One that I hadn’t thought about in some time.
The bag holding my memories of my first pregnancy. And so I took a moment. Read the cards. Held the stuffed animal my mom brought me in the hospital. Looked at each small trinket, given to me when we told people we were having a baby.
I looked at them and allowed myself a few moments of grief. Crying. Remembring.
Because nothing is worse than feeling like you can’t mourn. I felt like that for a long time. “You weren’t that far along”. “Only 9 weeks”. “You’ll have another”. “Good thing it happened earlier, rather than later.”
And while all those things are/were true….
I was a mother the moment that stick turned pink and I felt that child. I wanted THAT child.
So, allow me to mourn. Allow me to cry and allow me a moment to say goodbye. It isn’t the first time I will, and it won’t be the last.
Sure, I never met my baby. I never touched his or her face. I didn’t see them grow.
But I would still like to say goodbye.
So I will.
And then be glad for what I have and what would never have been, had this crippling event not happened. And while I still miss my first baby, I am happy for what I have been given.