In my experience, pregnancy ends today.
Abruptly. Without cause.
It ends in tears. Shock. In the kind of pain that never heals, not fully, not really.
Eve died at 31 weeks exactly. Today I am the same gestation with our rainbow baby.
It's hard to express how that feels.
I thought I'd be scared, but I'm not. Or if I am, the anxiety is buried more deeply, embedded more intrinsically, than I can fathom.
I am sad. Very sad. Grief upon grief. I miss my daughter. It's hard to think of anything other than This is when she died. No matter where I am or what I'm doing or who I may be with, my mind is focused first upon her.
I am sleeping terribly.
I do not feel myself. I do not feel connected to the earth. I pretend to everyone I meet.
I am surprised. I expected the weeks leading up to this gestation to be terrifying, to feel like falling. But they didn't. They felt normal. Good, even. But now this living feels like dying.
I feel impatient. I want to meet our boy before he's dead. Eight weeks more feels like an eternity.
I am mourning the fact that our son will only be younger than his sister, who should have been older than he for forever, for just a few more hours. If he is alive at 11:30 PM today, he will have outlived her. Will Eve still be his older sister if she is no longer technically older? I feel confused.
I feel angry. Angry that she's gone, and angry that I couldn't keep her here. I want to smash things, smash everything.
It is quiet. I expected today to be clanging loud with fear and dread and disaster, but it is quiet. Just like her death, and her birth. The world outside my window is as gray as my heart. I am glad.
I hurt. That's what it comes down to. What it always does. No amount of feeling normal, of joy over this sweet boy or anything else, can erase her absence and the hurt that comes with it.
I miss her.