When I found out I was pregnant with you, I came across this little bib on Amazon. It said “Sweet” right above an adorable pea-in-a-pod illustration. The little pea was smiling and looked so happy. While clicking add to cart, I decided I’d call you Baby Pea. I really wanted to buy that bib for you, but I left it in the cyber checkout line and never completed the purchase.
It’s been four years . . . and guess what? It’s still there and I still miss you.
Four years later, grief looks like nightmares creeping up as the day gets closer. It sounds like me snapping at your dad because I’m sad. It’s being mad that I can’t seem to pull myself together. It’s an overwhelming fear I am going to lose one of your brothers. (Will it be a head injury? Does one of them have cancer? Is one of them going to step in front of a car? Will the new baby just stop breathing?)
Missing you looks like still talking about miscarriage, knowing I am annoying everyone, but not caring because I need to remember you. It is praying I am able to honor your life in even the tiniest way. It’s trying to make some sort of lemonade from a really sour lemon.
Over the past years, I have moved forward and am doing really well most of the time. . . but there are days I am a little bit of a wreck.
I try to help others going through pregnancy loss so no one feels alone. I want to live life to the fullest and enjoy every blessing because I am so grateful. I berate myself for any parenting mistakes because I know what a gift I have been given in your brothers. I don’t ever want to take motherhood for granted.
They say grief is love with no place to go. I love you, Baby Pea. And that love looks like remembering you and being thankful for your time here. You were so small and your life was brief, but you changed me forever. I will never be the same because of your presence.
Sometimes I log into Amazon and check my saved for later section to make sure that bib is still there. It is comforting to see it again—a sweet memory of a sweet pea of a baby. You were under my heart for a short time but are carried in it forever.
Previously published on the author’s Facebook page