I am torn. It is part of me to hope. Ingrained. I choose to look for the best in things. Yet simultaneously I prepare myself for the darkness. Is it possible to be pessimistically optimistic?
I anticipate seeing my baby in the screen and learning the sex of it in a little over a week while simultaneously considering that they might find something wrong too. I look forward to holding a newborn baby while simultaneously picturing the possibility of that newborn being still. I want to consider names that are strong and beautiful and perhaps related to heaven or inner strength so that they may always have strength while the image of what the name might look like carved in stone pops unbiddingly into my head. It is morbid and yet beautiful. I hope for a beautiful healthy baby and prepare for the real possibility of a beautiful silent and still one.
Are you going to say it's not healthy to think this way? But it would be entirely unhealthy for me to think that every pregnancy is unicorns, roses and rainbows; to be so disillusioned that this one will, most definitely, come home. Not every pregnancy ends in a mewling pink baby. If I prepare for it and then am left holding a silent one then what? I get to say "I told you so"? To who? To myself? "I told you so you silly girl! It happened once it could happen again!"?
What if I walked around on cloud nine denying every possibility of darkness and presented the appearance that the world is always a wonderful sunshiny kind of place where nobody hurts or feels sad? Would you think I've lost it? Or maybe I should not blog, then no one would question either way the wiseness of such thinking either way. Maybe I should not share this part of me, this glimpse into the heart, perpetual anxiety, fear, flashbacks, and pain of many women who like me and my family have experienced a loss and like their silent baby remain silent. But I cannot. Writing is logical and cathartic when so much is not.
So. I remain cautiously optimistic. It is my own self preservation, a defense mechanism. If I prepare for the possibility of being empty-armed leaving the hospital, a situation I never considered out of my own state of naïvety with Gabbie, maybe it won't hurt so badly if it happens again.
So though I go on excited to see and hold this new baby cautiously optimistic of its arrival, I find it difficult to shop for it, name it, prepare for it, consider it. I do not daydream about its future, how it might arrive, or what it's visage may look like but I do consider how wonderful it would be to hold it. I love it already like I love any potentially realized dream, but more. However, to me it is still a 50/50, and I've only ever chosen the right option 50% of the time. But hey at least I've won it that many times right? My glass is still half full with the lips of Fate poised, to perhaps drink once more from my cup or perhaps to whisper softly if I'd like some more. I'd like some more I'd plead, if asked the question instead of Fate taking more.
I guess I hesitatingly wait to see if 2014 is a giver or a taker and take all precautions to prevent it from taking too much. It's like dreaming of all the things you'd do if you won the big lotto, knowing it's a real possibility of not winning and that you'd only just been dreaming of a better existence all along. I love my life. A sweet pink baby would only enhance the blessings I've already been given by Her, that fickle Fate, and Him, a willful God. And it would be so wonderful to be given one more sweet tiny blessing. I hope with so much of me that 2014 giveth and does not taketh away.
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