I haven’t written about our little September angel baby much lately. It’s certainly not because I don’t think about our baby. I do. Every day. All the time. I should be 19 weeks pregnant. We should be celebrating that it’s a new baby brother or sister. But that baby is in heaven and I’m 13 weeks pregnant with a new baby. I love our new baby. But I still desperately love and miss our little angel. I still wonder whether it was a boy or a girl. I think it was a boy. I had a feeling from the beginning.
I feel guilty for saying this new baby is baby #3. It’s really our 4th baby. But if we said baby #4 to everyone, no one would understand. And we would have to deal with telling everyone about our loss and I really don’t want to, especially since it was an early loss and no one would get that. So I say the proper baby #3 and inwardly feel guilty. I feel like I’m almost betraying or forgetting our little one. I’m not and I know that, but I can’t help but feel that way.
And then I also feel bad for feeling this way because I feel like I should have such complete and utter joy with our new baby – baby #3/4. I am happy and thrilled with our new baby. But it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten or don’t miss our 3rd baby either. I still feel like there’s a part of me that’s holding back from completely connecting with this new baby. I hear the baby’s heartbeat and I feel those precious little flutters and twitches and I thank God all the time for this little blessing. But I still don’t feel as connected as I have with my previous pregnancies. Maybe it’s just the emotions of coming off a miscarriage. They say once you’ve had a loss, pregnancy is never again the same. It’s true. Things are not the same. I’m not worried that we’ll lose this baby now. I’m in the 2nd trimester now and past the “danger” point. I’m not naive – I know something could still happen, but I also know that God is in control and I trust Him. I’m not going to live my life completely in fear of the possible “what if’s.”
I don’t know what I’m waiting for to begin letting myself get excited. I just still have a hard time picturing that we’ll be bringing a new baby home next June. I know that in my head, but my heart has a hard time fully believing it. Maybe it will become more real once we find out whether it’s a boy or a girl. We’re pretty sure we have our names picked out, but I don’t think I’m ready to share them yet.
And that also brings me to our angel baby. We were probably going to name our angel baby the same names we have now. Are we giving our baby’s name away to the next one?! I know we’re not, but I can’t help feeling that way at times.
I’m also tired of doctor appointments. I’m tired of being “high risk.” I don’t feel high risk, I don’t think my health justifies that fancy “warning” label. I hate that the practice now wants me to see the high risk doctor – the “perinatologist.” I wish I could just see my doctor and that be it. I don’t see that anything good can come from it. My pregnancy will just be more micro-managed and I don’t want that. I had a perfectly fine and healthy pregnancy with Emily – without a fancy peri – and I really would prefer to keep this one the same.
Debbie – the peri’s receptionist I wrote about yesterday – called today and finally scheduled my ultrasound. It’s on January 19th. I’ll be 18 weeks pregnant. A month away. But I have to see the peri for a “consult” first. *sigh* One more appointment. I have 4 doctor appointments in the space of 2 weeks in January. If Nate doesn’t have a car by then… well the poor guy’s going to be doing a lot of driving. I feel like just cancelling them all and saying “You know, pregnancy isn’t a disease! I’m not sick you know!” But if I want my ultrasound, I need to be a good girl and go to these appointments.
I hate that not a single person at the doctor’s office has congratulated me on this baby or have acknowledged that this is my 4th pregnancy (aside from crude medical terminology.) I hate that my medical file now says something to the effect of “spontaneous abortion” in Sept 2008. To me abortion is one of the cruelest medical terms and to pin that on me, on my precious innocent little angel who was incredibly loved and wanted – and was by no means aborted – is just cruel in my opinon. But such is the medical world.
Some days I just want to run away and hide. To not have to think anymore…