I made it to 23 weeks and was officially starting to show. I complained to my husband about my fat legs. Little did I know how little that mattered, how silly worrying about my legs were. How could I worry about my legs when my baby had passed, and I was unknowingly carrying her still filled with hopes and dreams.
Every night around 11pm, I would feel her moving around, cuddling up next to me. Then there were no kicks, no cuddles. Everyone told me not to worry, at 23 weeks it’s too early.
I knew something wasn’t right.
I imagined kicks but there weren’t any. That Thursday night the umbilical cord got wrapped around her neck and my baby girl stopped living.
I couldn’t go on pretending. To the emergency room we went. Hoping I was wrong but feeling how right I was.
That was the last time I felt like myself. I left a part of me in that ER that I’ll never get back.
I decided to have a natural delivery. I needed to bring my baby into this world safely. I needed to hold her, to see her. I needed to know she was real.
She was the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.
I pushed my beautiful girl out and instead of her cries I only heard mine.
Just like that, gone went another piece of me. Gone went my beautiful baby and gone went my innocence.
I’d give anything to have my fat legs back.
Today I’m almost 3 months postpartum, yet I hesitate to say that, because if I’m postpartum I should have a baby. Am I postpartum? How does this work?
I created the milk. I have the stretch marks, the 6 weeks of bleeding, I have everything except my baby.
Every day is a struggle but I hope to grow stronger. I hope I grow to recognize myself again. I’m not who I used to be. I’m not sure who I am but the new me is having a really hard time.
I am thankful everyday for the blessings in my life that I do have. My health, my parents, my siblings and friends. But most importantly my husband. My rock, my everything. There are not enough words.