As many of you know, Joel and I are journalists in the Detroit area. Last night, I covered a small election in some communities in and around Detroit -- little stuff like millage proposals, school district bonds, and the like. When the results came in from one city counting on a millage proposal (tax increase) to help them save their services as they struggle with major money problems -- it passed -- an elected official told me the results were bittersweet. It didn't solve their budget worries but it helped.
The word struck me: bittersweet. That's exactly how I felt the moment I found out I was expecting a boy. It felt bittersweet -- to lose a child, a baby boy, and now to be expecting another. Bittersweet.
As I approach the end of this pregnancy with all its aches, pains, and endless bathroom trips, I'm getting more and more anxious to meet this little person. I want to meet the little boy who likes "Bohemian Rhapsody" when I put headphones on my belly, who kicks the minute I pick up his sister, whose foot I've seen graze from one side to the other of my stomach, who I've dreamed of.
I can't wait to hear his voice. I never heard Will cry aloud (because of the ventilator). Ever. And while we heard Hope cry the tiniest of cries in the delivery room, Joel and I both long to hear a huge, throaty cry of "Where the heck am I?!???? Put me back!"
I've been wondering and worrying if this baby will need to go to the NICU like Will and Hope. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he'll be big enough and his lungs mature enough at 37 weeks not to need the NICU. But I'm preparing myself just in case.
So that's where we are -- 13 days away from my c-section. I'm so excited to see my little boy, to study his face, kiss his cheeks, and smell his hair. And yet a part of me is sad too, sad for the little boy whose time on this earth was far too brief, missing him like always. Bittersweet.
P.S. I apologize for the heavy post. Blame the hormones.