Movement.
Baby Stan is now not only kicking my ass with the symptoms, but is also literally starting to kick my ass from the inside. Ok, so it's not a hard thumping yet, but it's starting. And it puts me into a whole new category of anxiety. What if it stops?
It just stopped one day with Quinn, early on in that 22nd week, and the nurse I talked to thought I was nuts for knowing my child's patterns already.
"Sweetie, we don't start kick counts until the 28th week."
"Please, something isn't right. Can I come in to check the heartbeat?"
"Oh, alright. Be here by 4."
And from that second on, we were thrust into a new, unanticipated lifestyle we never dreamed of. Parenthood. To a dead kid.
I know, I know, I've closed the old blog, and tried to metaphorically move on past the life and sudden death of Quinn. I wanted to keep this shiny new blog happy and carefree. But, the feelings here are real. The anxiety is real. Which way will we be shoved, once we hit that fork in the road?
A path of life?
Or a path of death?
The reality of Baby Stan flicking my inner belly brought me to tears early this morning, as I sat with my feet up and my hand on my belly. I missed that feeling. I miss my Quinn. I love my Baby Stan. I can't believe that I am fortunate enough to feel this again, and I could sit for hours waiting for it to happen again.
Baby Stan is about 5-6 inches long now (about the length of your wrist to mid-arm). So small. And so loved.
It just stopped one day with Quinn, early on in that 22nd week, and the nurse I talked to thought I was nuts for knowing my child's patterns already.
"Sweetie, we don't start kick counts until the 28th week."
"Please, something isn't right. Can I come in to check the heartbeat?"
"Oh, alright. Be here by 4."
And from that second on, we were thrust into a new, unanticipated lifestyle we never dreamed of. Parenthood. To a dead kid.
I know, I know, I've closed the old blog, and tried to metaphorically move on past the life and sudden death of Quinn. I wanted to keep this shiny new blog happy and carefree. But, the feelings here are real. The anxiety is real. Which way will we be shoved, once we hit that fork in the road?
A path of life?
Or a path of death?
The reality of Baby Stan flicking my inner belly brought me to tears early this morning, as I sat with my feet up and my hand on my belly. I missed that feeling. I miss my Quinn. I love my Baby Stan. I can't believe that I am fortunate enough to feel this again, and I could sit for hours waiting for it to happen again.
Baby Stan is about 5-6 inches long now (about the length of your wrist to mid-arm). So small. And so loved.
Comments