I'm setting a goal for myself to post at least once each day for the next month (it's almost February, so through that month).
I think part of me is avoiding the reality of what the next few days are.
January 28th: "A year ago today...I felt you moving, kicking...I looked to the months ahead, you growing bigger and stronger, holding you in my arms..."
January 29th: "A year ago today...I started feeling contractions and had some spotting, the on-call doctor said I shouldn't worry but if they increase to more than five an hour that I should come in..."
January 30th "A year ago today...I went into the doctor's office because I had an appointment already scheduled. The contractions had continued, but slowed during the day. Dr. D examined me and said everything looked good, but sent me over to have an ultrasound 'just to be sure'...I was admitted to the hospital straightaway from the ultrasound...put in a wheelchair and then straight into a bed (my feet didn't touch the floor for three more days)..."
So much happened even that first night in the hospital. But I am not ready to turn this post into an acccount of William's birth. These are the thoughts that are bubbeling up into my mind (or just under the surface) and I know that I need to acknowledge them.
Mom and Dad were here today. God I love them so much. Mom was her usual self. I mentioned to her that I had seen the high-risk specialist and then she launched into stories of her new doctor and then went on and on about herself and her medical issues and in her usual way mixed up the timeline from before I was even born until last week...all the while I tried to be patient. I love her and she is who she is and that is that--no changing her, I put that one to bed 10 years ago. But I did marvel at the fact that she didn't follow up my statement about seeing the high-risk specialist. So eventually I just brought it up again and asked her if she was interested in hearing about it. She responded with her usual emphaticness and complete sincerity--yes, yes, she REALLY wanted to know but didn't want to pressure me by bringing up the topic of having another baby. So I shared the news of what Dr. B had told me and how things went and how I really like Dr. B, and all of that. While Mom and I were talking she started to sob and told me how much she misses William, how much she loves him...how painful she knows that this is for me. Yep.
During this time my Dad was outside working on my car (I have come to accept that one of the ways that my Dad feels like he is being a good father is by helping with things like this). I went outside to talk with him and it took a lot of restraint to not say something to him like "Dad, I think I might be pregnant again. Chances are that I'm not, but at any rate we are hoping to be pregnant again soon...and I'm scared and happy and a bit overwhelmed at it all." But I didn't. I didn't say anything to him about it at all. With my Dad, my emotions are so raw. I love him so deeply that it is almost painful. So I knew that if I were to say anything about having another baby that I would probably break down. So I kept it together by not even bringing it up.
I'm glad that I have taken Thursday and Friday off of work for William's birth/death day. Mr. C did, too, so we will spend the days together.