I received a Facebook friend request from a girl I’ve known since the third grade this week. She has a daughter who was born in 1997. This freaked G’s shit out. He just couldn’t believe that someone our age could have a teenager! Then I reminded him of two things:
– We lost a baby in 1995. (S)He would be 14 right now.
– He is the same age now that our parents were when we met. I was 13 and he was 17.
I finally told him the whole story behind that first miscarriage, and we pondered over how different life would have been. We both agree that while it sucks that the baby died, it probably was better for us in the long run. Somehow, that makes it worse.
I always thought that finally having a baby would take some of the sting from the losses. Somehow, they’d become “worth it” because they’d have been necessary in order for this life to have been achieved. Maybe that will still happen. Maybe that’s something that magically comes when looking in the baby’s eyes for the first time or something? I tend to think not, though. I tend to think I was wrong, and it will always be like this. Maybe, there will always be part of me that wishes I could look into our alternate lives and see what would have been.
In other news… Baby G is kicking and playing and making my tum move all day long. He woke me up last night kicking at me. Also, Daddy G has been much more patient with waiting for his kicks since he’s been able to feel and see them more and more this week. We have a little bonding almost every night when he talks to the baby and feels him move around. Seriously, the.best.feeling.ever. ever.