We lost the baby, again. Every day I pray your mom doesn't call me. Not because I don't want to hear from her, but the amount of anxiety built up in the few seconds from me recognizing her name on my phone and answering to hear her calm voice are so full of the same fear I had when I got the call from Nanny. I'd rather get her text or emails every day, all day, but when the phone rings and it's her, I recoil from answering.
I answered yesterday, forgetting she had a doctor's appointment, and the pause in her response followed by the tears had me thinking the absolute worst - I lost you and Connor. However, we lost the baby.
Twelve weeks, that's the amount of time they tell you to wait before letting anyone know. I've never waited, I can't contain my excitement and want to share it with the world. This time, I was more contained, and only shared with your uncles and a couple people at work. My thought has always been we make strong babies, what's to worry about. It's a fear that's hidden far back in your mind, one you never expect to realize, but allow yourself to ponder just on the off-chance acknowledging it somehow prevents it. It doesn't, we lost the baby.
I quickly turned to the Internet to figure out what to do. It's full of advice on what to do, but it doesn't tell you how it compounds past wounds. I did as the articles instructed, and avoided telling her "we can try again", and just held her, asked Gaga to come over, and we shared a beer (because that's what we do). Your mom loves you boys more than life itself, and having to watch her relive the loss of another one of you is beyond bearable, but that's what you do in this situation. You bear the inconceivable, you put on a happy face, and you create a safe place for your children, for your sanity, for your family. We've been through this before, losing a baby.
I don't know where we go from here today. I'm beyond scared of what can happen the next time around, and I don't want to put your mom through this again. I don't want to fear her phone calls. I don't want to worry about you boys. Without all this, I guess I wouldn't be parenting, and since this is its price, it's something I continue to bear, because the infinite possibilities of parenthood don't always end with losing the baby.
On Sunday night, I prayed to Blake. I've talked to him a few times this year, but not as often as I should. I prayed he watch over Harlie and keep her safe throughout her recovery, it's not her time. Her recovery is going better, and she's beginning to turn the corner. I don't know how I forgot to ask him to watch over your mom, and the baby. I've asked him to watch over several people who've joined him lately, and vice versa. I pray he watches over each of you, and keeps you safe when I'm not there to. We never know when things will change, and they turn on a dime, without reason. We look back to what we wish we'd done, what we could have done, and bargain for that moment back. I can't rewind to Sunday, and ask him to watch over mom, keep her safe. I forgot to ask him to watch over the baby, and now we've lost it.
Life isn't fair. It's lessons are unending, and incredibly taxing. You smile. You grieve. You hold on to those you love that are here. They may not be for long. Love you, buddy.
