The Baby

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.

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