Everywhere

Weston's second birthday is in nine days. I will most likely give birth between now and then. Last year, anticipating the month of July was like a rock in my chest. I know so many families of children who died in July. Whether we are one, two, or twenty years out, it is a painful month. I anticipated and experienced the same.

However, there is nothing like cardiac problems with one's unborn baby to shift the attention and anticipation elsewhere. Make no mistake, my attention has been right where it should be. However, now the cardiac problems seem to be abating, and I have truly begun the (probable) single-digit countdown to childbirth. The reality is upon me that I will be giving birth again very soon.

When we learned that Baby #3's due date would fall two days before Weston's birthday, I gave myself permission to not observe his birthday and not feel guilty about it. Even baking a cake will be too much with a days-old newborn or being overdue in Phoenix in the summertime.

Throughout my pregnancy, I have wondered how my grief over Weston would change when his little brother arrives. Different fears have come and gone. At times, I've expected to be blown away by the intensity of the grief. I don't talk about it much outside of a very small group of people, and I'm not going to elaborate here either. It is quite taboo for any emotion besides elation to accompany the arrival of a new baby, so I'm keeping my mouth shut.

Reminders of Weston are everywhere these days. It is almost overwhelming. In one evening recently, two people let me know he was on their minds.

A new website was launched this week specifically for pregnant women who have previously lost a child. It has been enormously helpful to read others' experiences with childbirth, caring for their rainbow babies, and all the feelings that accompany these experiences.

And, yesterday. I had another echo at the hospital's medical tower. It was fine: baby's heart is unchanged from last time, there are still no signs of distress, and I don't have to have anymore fetal echoes! They will do another one directly on the baby when he is born, and we'll go from there.

Recently, I've been having brief bouts of sciatic pain that, quite literally, stop me in my tracks. I had several of those as I left the medical tower. I was limping along when I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. I looked closer-yes, it was her. Dr. Z, the neonatologist who treated Weston as he was dying.

At that moment, I had a strong, painful contraction. Dr. Z was talking to someone else and didn't see me. I hadn't seen her since our meeting a couple of months after he died. I limped to the elevator and somehow made it to my car before I ugly-cried for several minutes.

I had figured that seeing the NICU or any NICU staff that I knew would be a painful trigger, but I did not expect ugly crying. I felt a little better afterwards, or so I thought, because then I almost had a BAD car accident. I can't bear to imagine the consequences if the accident had actually happened.

At this point, I have to keep it together. I have a baby to birth and a lot of anxiety to work through to make it happen. I can't wait to meet him, and I think about holding him constantly. I have a daughter who is petrified that I'll go to the hospital and not leave for a month again. It will all be over soon.

If you see me in the month of July, please go easy on me. There is no doubt that Weston is with me, even when I'm too overwhelmed to see him, until he makes it quite obvious like he did this week.

It is hot and dry out, with forecasts ranging from 107 to 115 degrees for the following week. But, wouldn't you know it, there is a chance of rain on July 4. I'm hoping and praying to have both of my boys with me that day: one rainbow in the sky and my rainbow baby in my arms.