Today was Lily's planned due date. Instead, I am three weeks post-partum.
Three weeks ago, as the day of her birth progressed and grew longer, I knew what was coming, but I wouldn't say it or acknowledge it. The nurse came in the afternoon to do a check on me and when she left, Brandon asked her if she would tell our family that we needed a little bit of time to ourselves. She said, "Sure" and then left quietly.
And Brandon grabbed my hand...."Sweetheart, I think we need to say our goodbyes. Lily is starting to look different and I don't want you remembering this part. I want you to remember how beautiful and peaceful she looked."
I knew he was right. I just didn't want to let her go. I wanted to hold her forever.
I wanted to be her mommy the way people are supposed to be mommies.
Our families came back in and Brandon told them it was time. They each took one last time to hold her and to tell her that they loved her. I cried the entire time and my arms just ached. I wanted them to hurry so I could hold my girl again because I knew it would be the last time I did.
They left and then it was just the three of us. It was one of the most wonderful and yet simultaneously heartbreaking times of my life. We talked to her. We unwrapped her from her blankie and just looked at her. We told her that we loved her and that we would miss her desperately every day. (And we do.) And then because I couldn't do it, Brandon buzzed for the nurse.
She came in quietly and I asked her to please keep her wrapped tightly because she was cold. I handed Lily to her and because my arms hurt so badly, I held onto Brandon so tightly as I sobbed as she walked out the door with my girl.
My arms still hurt.
I find myself zoning out, thinking about Lily. I think about the way she looked. She had a cabbage patch nose and the most beautiful little lips. She had puffy cheeks and a chin just like her daddy's. Her eyes were fused closed. So even if she was born alive, she wouldn't have been able to see us when we told her that we loved her. Her hands and her feet were the most perfect little hands and feet I've ever seen.
When I zone, I remember what it felt like to hold her and how tiny she was. Then I look down and instead, see all I have is her blankie from the hospital and I remember where I am and where she is.
In some ways, all that happened three weeks ago seems easier than today does. We've all heard the phrase, "it's gonna get worse before it gets better." I can't see that being the case for this situation. It will always be hard. We will just be distracted more in the future, instead of being consumed by our grief constantly.
Do I think we will have more kids? Yes, I do. But it doesn't mean that I didn't want Lily. I want her with all of my heart. The problem is the way that she was made means she was never meant for this world. Instead, she was meant to be with Jesus.
But I am selfish because I want my baby here.
Instead of taking my baby home, I had to let her go. Instead of learning all there is to know about her for years to come, I had to hand her to a nurse and say goodbye.
Instead of seeing her daily, I have to wait.
5 hours ago