It's almost the 17th. It was around this time last year I awoke in the middle of the night with the worst cramps I'd ever experienced and a hell of a lot of blood and tissue. It was around this time last year I lost a potential child. The baby who would never be gave me a gift. If she hadn't died this child in my arms now would never have come to be. I can't say that I would have chosen for any child to die, but I know that I had no choice. So now I'm giving myself permission to be grateful for this little boy regardless of what had to happen for him to exist.
This doesn't change how I feel. Sophie was my child just the same as her brother. Knowing about his lack of pituitary gland I'm now forced to wonder if she had a similar problem or perhaps something much worse that caused the pregnancy to terminate on it's own. It pains me to have these thoughts. Am I bad a mother for wondering if perhaps my first child was so defective that my body ended the suffering before it began? I try not to think about these things. But I can't help but worry for the next child.
Did I tell you I have to see a geneticist as soon as I get pregnant again? My nurse wants them to follow my pregnancy next time around. Since we don't know what caused his lack of pituitary gland or his early entrance into the world. Is it bad to say that as much as I desperately want another child in a couple of years, that I am terrified as well of being pregnant again? I don't want to be high risk. I wish there was a magic wand I could wave that would take away all bad things that happen to all babies unborn and otherwise. I wish I had a crystal ball and could see if my next pregnancy will be normal or abnormal, if it will go full term or not.
As I sit here and reflect today, I admit I am happier than ever before; I have my baby in my arms. He is home, he is beautiful, in my eyes he is absolutely perfect, but truthfully all in all I am left with more questions than answers.