Yes, that's it.

I came across this poem, "The Spot" by Holly Day, this afternoon. (Scroll down to the bottom of the page; it won't let me link to the individual poem.)

Yes, that's exactly how it feels. It'll be three years next month (and my first would have turned four at the beginning of this month) but that feeling came back fresh as the moment it happened.

Fair warning: this poem will probably make you cry. But I think it's a cathartic cry.

A bit peckish.

My sister had her third baby this week. I am valiantly restraining myself from packing my suitcase right now because my flight to go visit her and help take care of my niecephews isn't until next week and I don't want to be living out of a suitcase for that long. I am beyond thrilled for her.

Other friends and acquaintances have been having babies recently, too. I coo and ooh and ahh and gloat over pictures of teeny toes and fuzzy heads. And I'm thrilled for them, too.

But I can feel the baby hunger starting to come on.

It's not quite here yet. At most you could say I'm starting to feel like maybe I'll need a little snack in the next little while. But I'm pretty sure after a week of snuggling a cute little brand-new-fresh baby that the hunger's going to kick it up a notch. Or seven.

And a week of watching my cute older nephew and niece play with each other and my Little Guy is not going to do much to alleviate the desire I have to see what a great big brother he would be.


* * *



After we moved to Tampa I had to transfer my birth control prescription to a local pharmacy. I did this well in advance, feeling proud of myself for being so on top of things.

And then I nearly forgot to pick it up. When I finally remembered, it was only because I had to start a new packet THAT day. I thought to myself, "It's sure lucky that I have the car today or I wouldn't be able to get there before the pharmacy closes! And then THAT would have caused probl—"

Oh, wait.

This is me we're talking about here. The girl who was on no form of birth control whatsoever for nearly four years before that whole pregnancy thing worked out.

The chances of it making any difference whatsoever if I forgot to refill my prescription are minuscule at best. I sometimes don't know why I'm even bothering to take the pills when experience shows they're probably not necessary.


* * *


I don't want a new baby quite yet. The baby hunger hasn't really started up . . . yet.

But it was frustrating to realize—again—that when I DO want one, when I'm so baby hungry I could explode, it's not going to be simple, like grabbing myself a quick PBJ to tide me over until dinner. Or not refilling my birth control prescription.

*sigh*




But still, on the bright side: I GET TO SNUGGLE MY NEW NIECE IN LESS THAN A WEEK! Must . . . control . . . packing . . . urges. . . .

What might have been.

Today marks the second anniversary of my missed due date.

I spent it taking care of a busy little toddler, doing laundry, fighting off a headache and, from time to time, thinking about what might have been.

The emotions are complicated. I'm sad that we didn't have a second birthday party today. I miss the little one I never met.

But I found out I was pregnant with the Little Guy exactly 17 days after my due date. If the first pregnancy had worked out, what would that have meant for the Little Guy? I don't know how it works with pregnancy loss and the other side; whether each pregnancy is a separate soul or if it's multiple tries for the same soul to come to earth. I just don't know. I don't like the thought of the Little Guy being in any way involved with the miscarriage. But the sheer number of what-might-have-beens in this scenario make me a little dizzy.

In some ways it's easier to think about what might have been with my first miscarriage. That child would be three and a half now, with no overlap between either of my other pregnancies. It's easier to view as a separate instance without worrying about what may or may not have happened if I hadn't lost the pregnancy.

But with #2 and the Little Guy, there's no possibility that we could have had both at the times we did. And that makes me think about what is and what might have been, and the only conclusion I can come to is that I am so grateful that I have the Little Guy, no matter how it came to happen.

So I'll have a moment of silence and maybe a tear or two for my missing little ones, and then give two extra kisses to my son, and content myself with not knowing the whys and wherefores for the time being. Time enough to worry later about what might have been; for now I'll just give thanks for what is.