In December of 2006, my husband and I were expecting our fifth baby. We were eleven weeks pregnant and after several early losses, this one was looking like "a keeper." Three ultrasounds had confirmed a great heartbeat and a wiggly little embryo that caused our RE is send us on our way with a request for baby pictures that summer.
We had nicknamed our sweet little one Gummy Bear and I had a feeling that it was a boy. It was right before Christmas and we'd had a heck of year, with four miscarriages in nine months. The sweet happiness of finally being really and truly pregnant had us walking inches off the ground. We were beyond giddy with our happiness. We had already told my family of our news and were planning to take our ultrasound picture framed in a Grandma ornament up to his family's house the very night of our OB appointment.
We never made it up to my in-laws that night. Instead, we watched our silent little baby float in a black space on a fuzzy screen and scheduled a D&C. Instead of handing my mother-in-law her first Grandma ornament, we returned the gift for a memorial angel to hang on our Christmas tree. And part of me died with my baby.
Little Gummy Bear's due date was July 2, 2007. Today, I remember my sweet Little One and think about what life would be like if he had lived. I'd no doubt be scurrying around organizing a party, baking a cake, taking him for his first haircut and placing the clipping in his baby book. I would be ready to watch him take his first steps (or running after him if he had already learned how to walk). I would be changing his diaper, reading his stories, worrying about what kind of mother I was being. These are all things that I so many times wondered if I would ever get the chance to do.
Yesterday, I heard a song on the radio that I had heard before: Who You'd Be Today by Ken.ny Ches.ney. It struck me with special meaning and I wanted to share it with you.
The video doesn't apply so much, but the words of the song certainly do. I am in a bit of my own hell today, thinking about the baby that could have been, what he would be like, who he would be. And yet, if Gummy Bear had lived, I wouldn't be feeling his little brother kick me right now. I am learning an important truth about motherhood: one child cannot replace another. My heart may be soothed today by the little one that I am nurturing inside of me, but it is still broken when I think about all that could have been and all that we have lost.
Tonight, we will add a stone angel to Gummy Bear's garden and light a candle to honor his memory. I will be glad for what we have been blessed with, our time with this special angel and all of the others, and I will vow never to forget them and what they mean to me.
Gummy Bear, I love you with all of my heart. Mommy misses you every single day. I hope you know how very much you mean to Daddy and me. We love you, precious Angel.