Sometimes the hardest part is the not knowing — the not knowing whether to refer to the baby as a he or a she. Being forced to use the despised “it”.
There are moments when I can live with the not knowing if the baby would have had brown eyes like mommy and daddy – or somehow inherited grandma’s green eyes. If the baby’s hair would be curly – or defied all odds and be stick straight.
But not knowing the basic fact of whether it was a boy or a girl – that feels unbearable.
Oftentimes, I refer to it as ‘her’. But sometimes, I think of ‘him’ – a little golden-haired baby – a precocious toddler. It’s the boy I can imagine more – I picture a mirror image of his daddy – the pictures I have of my husband as a baby or toddler fueling my imagination.
The baby would be two this year. Two. Not a baby anymore. A child – toddler – running around asking why a million times a day…
My life would have been drastically different.
The other hard part – while I wish with everything I have that I could have that baby – I also am glad we had more time as a couple. We would have loved the baby,but two years ago we weren’t ready – it would have been more difficult – a strain.
And, how horrible is that,to be glad of that? It’s as if I’m saying I’m glad that baby was never born. The baby I try so hard to picture, but whose face eludes me. The baby I never knew – and yet miss all the time.
The baby that now will always be a baby to me. Never a toddler, child or teenager. Just a faceless, nameless baby.
But still my baby.