Oct 15: I See You

My second child was born on August 8, 2020. He is my second child, but my first born. Holding him and loving on him in my arms shows me how much I was missing when we lost our Sweet Pea to miscarriage. The birth went beautifully and was followed by a complication that led to an OR visit. Despite such an incredible birth and beautiful son, the healing process was slow. Very slow. Some of the healing was because I had just given birth and some was because of the complication. Either way, I wasn’t well enough to leave the house for 10 days.

When I finally felt confident enough to walk into town I couldn’t wait to put my little love in his pram and push him around. I had been dreaming of this. We left our flat and took the tram to the city center. I was grinning from ear to ear as I finally had a reason to use those stroller ramps. I pushed that pram past beautiful Dutch row houses and tried to make eye contact with every passer by. I pushed it beside canals and over bridges. It rumbled on the cobblestones and with every step I felt like I was floating.

When I got home it hit me. It hit me hard. Not only was this something I had been longing for, it was something a lot of families have been longing for. I took my newborn out of his pram and into my arms. I began to cry. I wondered how many people saw my happiness as their pain. I’ve been there. I remember all of the times I saw happy moms and my heart was full of rage. Why didn’t I have that? Why was my baby dead? How long will I see their happiness as my pain?

Today is pregnancy and infant loss remembrance day. Today is a day I was only vaguely aware of before March of 2019. Today is a day that meant very little to me because it hadn’t effected me personally. Now it has. Having a beautiful little boy in my arms doesn’t take away the pain of pregnancy loss. My son is not a replacement baby. He is a second baby.

So today, I want you to know that I see you. I may be pushing a pram, and I may have a little one sleeping in a bassinet, but I have not forgotten how it feels. I know what it’s like to be jealous of the mom with the screaming toddler. I know what it’s like to feel hollow inside. I know what its like to count milestones that will never come. I see you.

As I light a candle tonight for my Sweet Pea, I light one for your child, too. I see you.

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