my little boy is almost 13 months old. his giggle. his eyes. he is my happiness.
today, snack time is a cereal bar, an option that is probably too messy and not the healthiest option for my little eater, but the adorable lip-smacking sounds he makes while eating it are worth all of the crumbs. martha appreciates these decisions. more crumbs the better she would say.
even on his very worst days, my son, somewhere in the midst of the chaos, still manages to melt my frazzled heart with the way he looks up at me with those big blue eyes.
i look at my bundle of busy and remember. i won’t lie and say every time, because that’s not true. but there are many times, when i see his little blonde head toddling around his playroom, that i do. i sit there and stare at him. i remember.
i remember the three lost pregnancies before he arrived, and each of the heart-breaking, soul-crushing moments when i knew those babies were gone. gone forever.
i have my son’s nine-week ultrasound picture in a frame. it was my most favorite appointment. my most favorite memory of my pregnancy. it was the first time i thought this time it was real. i remember everything about that appointment, but most vividly i remember seeing a little jelly bean flutter. his heartbeat. his little arms and legs that looked more like nubs. bouncing all over the screen. nine weeks old and i was in love. i knew i was forever changed. i was scared out of my mind; loss loomed over me, reminding me of what could be taken away. but i was in love. timidly, gently, whole-heartedly in love.
this babbling boy fills my heart in places i didn’t know existed, and while he consumes my days and most nights and definitely my instagram feed, i still have not forgotten. i haven’t forgotten the ache when a little one is lost, or what the pain looks like in the eyes of a mama with a nursery and no tiny baby to fill it up.
i won’t forget. i can’t forget.
i may not know your story, but i’m not so wrapped up in my life and the son i now have that i have forgotten about your loss. i will remember.
i think of those lost little ones often. i think of all you mothers and fathers with empty hands and broken hearts. i hope that those closest to you will remind you that they also have not forgotten. we heal, we grow, we live, we move forward. all at different times and stages, but remembering is acknowledging. it’s saying “i see your hurt, i see your pain, and i’m here.” quite honestly. those are the most important things to say to anyone that has lost something so important.
i feel like i have left this space empty. i often want to blog a photo and story of my little one but i stop. this place was one that i shared so much grief and pain. i gained support from readers going through that same pain. i would follow other blogs of women going through infertility or miscarriage or loss and once they had a baby it was like the book closed. that pain was never talked about again. like it never existed. but for me, it does. it makes me grateful. beyond words grateful for every breath my little one takes. it is the reason i can’t close my eyes each night without checking the monitor to make sure he is breathing. not a single breath is taken for granted.
i’m just me. today, especially during this holiday season, i want you to know that i remember.