Reflection

This Tuesday I go for my 20 week ultrasound. The "anatomy scan." When I don't think very hard about it, I am excited out of my mind. I have had trouble many nights getting to sleep just because I'm so excited. I can't WAIT not to say "it" and "him or her." I want to know my baby's name. I don't know how people wait the whole time, knowing you don't have to!
Then just when I think I'm in the clear, that nasty fear comes creeping back. What if they find something terribly wrong? What if they find something that might be wrong, enough to make me worry another 20+ weeks?  
Every day I fight off thoughts that I might have had when I was pregnant with Brynn, but they are strikingly more pressing this time. One day, one minute, I'm thinking my belly isn't as big as it should be. Later I'll realize I hadn't felt a flutter today. One thought after the other, guessing and second guessing if everything is alright. Curse you, miscarriage, for taking my blissful optimism away.
At the same time, I've been thinking on this time a year ago. I don't remember specifically the day I started showing signs I was miscarrying, because I denied wholeheartedly it was anything to worry about for at least a few days. I do remember that I went to the doctor just a few days after my birthday, which is May 11. I went twice and saw a heartbeat before May 22 knowing for sure my baby was gone.
I know these coincidental dates are adding to my fear and anxiety leading up to this exciting day (I really am more excited than anything). I had no idea this time last year that I would be halfway to meeting a new baby with everything going well. (In spite of my fears, everything has been perfect so far.) I had no idea if I would have another healthy child like Brynn, and I had no idea how long it would take. I prayed God wouldn't let me go through that hurt again. I didn't think I could bear it.
I grappled for a way to honor my baby's memory. At Christmas time, we donated a poinsettia at church in his memory from the 3 of us, since he was due on December 22, so close to Christmas. Now that the day he went to Heaven (at least the only date we can know) is coming up, I feel that need to remember again. For some reason I worry about people thinking it is strange, like maybe I should let it go. Maybe it's weird that I still think about this baby that is gone when I have a precious girl with me here and another one on the way. I spend every waking hour thinking and caring for the two I have here, so maybe it isn't so strange that twice a year I do something special for my heavenly child.
When I got enough courage last year, I made a donation of diapers and wipes to the Carolina Pregnancy Center. I figured I would have been buying them for my baby, so at least somebody else could have them. I think that's what I'll do again this year. I know it is just a little bit, but it means more than that to me.