Some days my heart just aches for the baby that isn't yet ours. It hurt like this for Paxton, and it hurts like it again now. The baby likely isn't born, likely won't be born for a long time, may even possibly not be conceived yet. Still... I miss this child. My heart hurts. My arms, even when wrapped around my precious son, still feel like they're missing all that they should be holding. Our nights are too quiet, our mornings too calm. The dull sound of the pump is grating and thankless, the nursery is gathering dust. I'm wondering if I should wash the baby clothes again, make sure they're clean. I'll definitely need to clean the linens.
Most days, most hours, most minutes, most seconds, I am truly optimistic. It WILL happen, we are already so blessed that we shouldn't focus on what we lack currently and rest confident in knowing that we are lucky people and that things will all go as they must go. It will be us someday, it will be our family, and then, it will be the right time and the right child and the right situation and even in the chaos of a new baby we will be alright and it will all have happened perfectly, just as it did the first time around.
But today, like some days or some hours or some minutes or some seconds, I am sad.
I miss our child, our second beloved child. I want to feel the soft weight of a warm baby in my arms, feel him or her nuzzled to my breast, soft breaths fleeting against my skin in the all consuming sleep of a tiny person. I want to hear the cry, the coos, the bubbles. I WANT to change diapers, I WANT to get up in the middle of the night to a warm beloved child and not a cold, monotonous pump. I want to take the love overstuffing my heart and pour it out upon our newest, our second, our baby.
I just wish I could get it all out of my system before Paxton wakes up, which is bound to be in seconds. I'm too antsy today. Maybe it's a sign, likely it's not.
I just miss our baby.
Lily in a loafing barn
5 weeks ago