A very nice man in my office had a son a little over a week ago. They brought him into the office today to meet everyone. He is sweet and tiny.
And he is not mine.
I try to keep a brave face on the outside, I coo and tickle with the best of ‘em. But I also mourn. I mourn my baby boy that I will never hold.
I mourn the ultrasound I was supposed to have last week. I mourn the double stroller we had picked out. I mourn the maternity jeans I had already bought.
I mourn all the milestones I was supposed to have with my Max. His first smile, his first giggle, his first poo, even. Would he have been a ham from the start like Violet was, or would he have been more subdued? Would he have wanted to snuggle constantly, or would he have demanded his own space? Were his eyes blue like mine, or hazel like Jason’s? Was his hair gypsy dark like his mama’s, or was he meant to be another blonde baby?
I know all things happen for a reason. I know there is a reason Max couldn’t stay with us. There has to be. I have to believe that.
But sometimes that doesn’t cushion the hurt. Sometimes I have to feel the pain. I miss my baby boy that I never got to hold.