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Yesterday morning my husband got G and brought her into bed with us for a bit. She watched the end of Lilo and Stitch, we talked about if she had any dreams the night before, what she wanted for breakfast, that she’d be spending the day with Granny. We do this every morning. It started when I was pregnant with Little T and suffered from the worst exhaustion of my life. I could not wake up in the morning so I’d bring her to bed so I could rest just a little longer. I’d stumble through the rest of the morning, feed her lunch, put her down for her nap, shove food in my face and pass out only to wake up to the sounds of her talking on the monitor. I did better in the afternoon, but would still go to bed early, unable to keep my eyes open any longer. The tradition continued after we lost him. A little while to cuddle before facing those hard days. I am so thankful I’m able to do this. That I don’t have to rush off and get ready for work. Are there some days I should get up earlier? Absolutely. Do I feel bad when G claps and says “Yay mommy! Good up!” when I finally roll my lazy ass out of bed? Well, yes. Damn kid. But I love that we begin our mornings with her watching a little tv, me on my side towards her, her toes pinching my leg. Large dysplastic kidneys. I haven’t even googled it. It’s an umbrella term the doctor says. Encompassing kidneys that didn’t form right, it doesn’t tell you the cause, just the symptom. Because of this, there’s no amniotic fluid, and because of that, his lungs aren’t formed. In his chest it’s supposed to be lung, heart, lung, 1/3, 1/3, 1/3. Instead it’s lung, HEART, lung. They’re tiny, not working. Transfusions wouldn’t work; my body would absorb them as his body has no use for them. Defects like this generally cause 2nd trimester losses, not first, so it’s unlikely this is what happened with the other 2 as well. I’m just lucky I guess. She says he’s happy in there. No pain, the placenta doing all the work for him, his body doesn’t have to do anything yet, it’s when he’s born it’d have to work. I feel bad seeing him all squooshed up, but she says, kids are made of rubber, he’s fine. So now we have to choose. Induce, or wait. She says I could go full term, and even have a live birth. Palliative care as he won’t last long. Or he could pass, in the womb or being born, at any time. If I wait, there’s a potential 19 more weeks to live through. Getting fatter and feeling him inside me. Fantastic conversations about boy or girl, and due dates. Explanations, conversations. G becoming more aware. Becoming more and more attached. The doctor will suggest inducing. I’d be like a famous rich person planning my kid’s birth around my personal schedule, except without the happy ending of course. They will dangle the carrot of the ever elusive healthy pregnancy in front me. Next time, next time. She was surprisingly hopeful that we could actually get a baby to bring home should we try again, after being very blunt and matter of fact for most of the appointment. (Which I really appreciated, don’t fucking coddle me right now.) Apparently the statistics are still on our side, despite that it feels just the opposite. Discussions will be had about the vitamins being used to keep him alive, the risk of the placenta implanting deeper and deeper, especially since I had complications with the last one, they’ll point that out. But here’s the problem with that; I’ve been there before. It’ll start at Labor and Delivery, which will be full of women having healthy babies, faces looking at me with pity, and hugs from strangers. Oh, or even better, some of the same nurses as last time, so they can experience my personal tragedies with me all over again. I wish there was a place I could go and just be left alone. People could come and deliver milky ways the size of my arm and drugs if needed, but otherwise just pretend I don’t exist, that I’m not doing this again. They’ll start with pills, which didn’t work last time, but since I’m further along I assume we’ll just have to give them longer this time. I’ll give birth, say good bye, die a little, and go home. There is where the fun begins. I’ll be empty again. In every definition of the word. Physically, emotionally, just fucking empty. I’ll bleed, it was 5 weeks last time, then I hemorrhaged and had an unexpected visit to the ER for an emergency D&C and blood transfusion. We will have to decide if we want to try again. Let my body “heal”, cry every time I start my period, start anew. I wonder where the line is between hopeful and positive, and foolish glutton for punishment. What none of this mentions though, is what I didn’t have to go through last time; the choice. Little T was gone already, my son is currently alive. None of this answers the question; how in the world will I live with myself after this? I’m closing comments. There’s no way I’ll be able to answer them. My email is searchingforamelia@gmail.com if you’d like to contact me that way, I can hit reply I’m sure.