On Grief and Growth

As the shower head sprays my face, I can no longer tell which of the falling liquid is water and which are tears. It doesn’t really matter, does it?

I slowly move my hand through the steam and turn the dial. The water stops flowing from the shower head, but my tears continue. I reach for my towel and begin to dry myself, careful not to look at down at my swollen belly or my full breasts; the areolas already darker than they were a week ago. They are preparing to feed a baby who will never be fed.

As I emerge from the humid air, I hear the distant sound of a melodica playing a familiar theme song; my daughter’s nightly 5pm routine of watching ‘Bluey’ while her dad prepares dinner has clearly begun. The smell of roasted vegetables and pesto sauce wafts from the kitchen down the hallway as I walk toward our bedroom.

I face our bed as I drop the towel and begin to get dressed, again, taking extra caution not to reveal my naked body to myself in the full length mirror behind me. But who am I kidding? Even though I cannot see him, I can feel him. He moves in steady bursts of energy. He is usually more active first thing in the morning and again in the evening and today is no exception.

However, in two days, there will be no more kicks, my bulging belly will begin to deflate and my breasts will shrink back to normal size. Although the doctor prescribed me a medication to help ensure my milk does not come in after the procedure, I am scared that it will. Of course if this did happen, this would not mark the first stab in the heart I have endured since finding out about my son’s condition a little over a week ago.

Since then, I have watched my husband move all of my daughter’s old baby items into our driveway to be donated; baby items that I was excited to use for our son.

A mom at the playground asked me: “Is that your only child?” pointing to my daughter and instead of answering “Yes, but we are trying for another!” Or ‘Yes, but I’m 5 months along with her brother!” I simply responded: “Yes.”

But the biggest gut punch is when my daughter says: “Mama, your belly is getting bigger.’ or, after we explained things as best we could, she says things like “Mama, I’m sad that my brother isn’t coming.”

Yes, honey, I am sad too.