102 – Fri, May 11, 2018, 11:56 AM
May 1, 2019
I smile with genuine feeling. I finally feel excitement. I love her and I miss you. I realize I have given up control.
Peanut
- Out of respect for her privacy, “Peanut,” “Penny,” and “Penelope” are all pseudonyms used for my daughter born subsequent to the death of Adrian. Posts here talk about Peanut and pregnancy & parenting after loss.
101 – Sun, May 6, 2018, 12:13 AM
May 1, 2019
I have days when I think I’m okay. I have days when I think, “I’m healed now. I can be a normal person again.” This started out as one of those days.
099 – Wed, May 2, 2018, 7:46 PM
May 1, 2019
I see her when I close my eyes. I see her as a child and all grown up, and I think about the ways that I didn’t see you. When I dreamt of you, you were always an adult looking out of a child’s body.
098 – Thu, Apr 29, 2018, 8:58 PM
April 1, 2019
I started school this month. It’s been intense, learning to live again inside rules and structure. I can’t get up and walk away when I need to be alone with you.
Why I track fetal movement religiously with my second pregnancy
March 21, 2019
I don’t write this to be condescending. I write this because I unfortunately know. I know what it’s like to think everything’s okay, and then have your entire world fall apart. I will always wish someone had said these things to me. I will always wish someone had thought I should know.
It’s Not About the Sunscreen
February 5, 2019
Sometimes the minutiae of life is overwhelming, and sometimes when we try to share about how it’s difficult, people get sidetracked on the details instead of the bigger picture. It’s not about the sunscreen, though; it’s so much harder than that.
29 Oct 2018 – Baby Things
October 29, 2018
When my son was stillborn at 41 weeks, I came home to a complete nursery. All of his clothes were washed and sorted, his diapers laid out next to wipes and creams. And maybe it sounds counterintuitive, but I was thankful.
26 Sep 2018 – Dear Grace
September 26, 2018
You are turning one next week, and I feel jealous. You are turning one, and my son won’t be here to send you a sloppy scribbled birthday card. You are turning one, and I am aching, and I realize that I miss your mother. I miss her, but I’m still not ready to be friends.