I miss butterflies, the ones inside, and out

I’m 2 days short of 17 weeks.  

My three other girls I remember going to the doctor for my sonogram for anatomy and telling the girl that I’ve felt movement for weeks.  I hardly feel this baby.  I want to but I don’t.  I remember being able to feel my girls move so early: little butterflies fluttering inside, tiny bubbles like those on the side of a glass of soda popping up the inside wall of me.  I remember.  I remember how much Gabbie moved.  And I guess I just took it for granted that she’d never stop.  Now I don’t feel this baby hardly at all and I want to so badly it aches in the deep down parts of my stomach, waiting.  Everything I’ve read claims that most new moms feel movement between 16 and 18 weeks and  steady movement by 22 weeks, but seasoned veteran moms can feel them as early as 12.  This is not my first rodeo.  I know what I’m looking for.  I have felt evidence of the butterflies so I know it is possible to feel it.  I know each pregnancy is different but I’m sinking inside over here waiting to feel the movement that promises he or she is still with me.  How is possible that I can have a life form INSIDE of me, the closest possible way for it to be near me, and have no control?  I get it, I HAVE NO CONTROL.  I HAVE NO CONTROL. I HAVE NO CONTROL.  God will take this one too if he wants to.  An accident can happen again.  I can’t look inside and see if it’s alright.  I’m sorry but it is so hard to just trust that it’ll be okay, and yet I have no choice.  The strange thing is at first I was terribly concerned about how I would react once I started to feel it move.  It was with trepidation that I was anticipating the movement, those beautiful soft inside butterflies, and what it would do to my mental stability.   But now, after waiting for it to begin and not feeling it, I am concerned about my state of mind should I not feel it move soon. 

I miss my angel, she is with me I know, and watches out for me and this tiny little person who grows inside.  But I miss the evidence that this tiny peanut should be giving me that it is still in there and doing ok… 

It snows soft white flakes outside.  I miss butterflies. 

I cannot care

I'm almost 16 weeks. I don't feel this baby like I felt my others. Or maybe like I remember feeling my others.  I barely feel it at all (and there again I almost typed 'her').  I'd say it's too early but I feel it once in a while so is it? Or maybe I'm just anxious. 

Names. I've been asked if I've thought of any. I can honestly say I've not considered a single one. I don't care what the sex is. I don't care to shop. I don't care to prepare.  Maybe it'll change later. But really, right now, none if it matters except for that I care too much and so I cannot care.

But later may be in the end of May I will.  

I wish I had 5 stockings hung. 

Testing.

We heard the heartbeat today. We saw the little fingers and toes. We saw its round belly and little round face. 

The heartbeat. Fast. Strong. Sweet. 

It's all the same as the last three times. 

I think of it like a flip of a coin and the first 2 times I guessed heads correctly. The third time I lost the coin toss. 

The specialist for at risk babies was excellent though. Reassuring. Thorough. Honest. Knowledgable. 

She's sending me for tests to see if we can find the reason for the extra fluid that gave Gabbie the extra room to move and get wrapped up. I don't know if it would be reassuring to find a reason or if I don't want to find anything. A freak accident- something that was unpreventable, a tragic event that happens without reason, the way of the world as I've come to be accustomed to thinking? Or something that could have been prevented if they'd found it- something that happened from not enough diligent and thorough watching, something that happened from not knowing enough, not having adequate enough knowledge?  Do I want to continue to think I still have no control? Or do I want to think that maybe if I'd known I could have stopped it because that could mean that maybe it'll be more likely that I'll leave that hospital with a baby? The reasoning though of "being able to stop it if only they'd have done these blood tests earlier" is... Hard to swallow.   Right now in my heart it's 50/50. 50% chance of delivering a beautifully perfect pink breathing baby and 50% chance of delivering a beautifully perfect stillborn baby. At least that's what it is in my heart: 50/50. In my head perhaps, with the specialists talents, knowledge and diligence maybe it's a shift to 51/49 chance of healthy pink and wonderful.  

I just don't know which way I want it to go, find a reason, or not find a reason. And faith is heavy to carry all the time. I am really good at believing others will be fine and terrible at believing we will be, at least on the inside. 

My heart and faith are still so fragile and although it is reassuring that there will be so many people watching it is utterly terrifying and the deepest part of my soul still shakes.  I am still being tested.