Since the ‘incident’ that pushed me to decide there will (most likely) be no more babies, I’ve had a touch of melancholy mixed with wistfulness about the baby I had imagined we would have. A piece written by Sash has encouraged me to vocalise this and in an effort to put it out there, let go and move on I wrote this.
Dear (imaginary) baby,
If things were different we might be preparing for your conception, but instead I am packing away and getting rid of baby things that will not be used for you.
But some reminders of your absence will not be packed away.
Some tangible like the beautiful rocking chair that I purchased thinking that it would be where I fed you and documented your first year, the special pieces of clothing belonging to Eve that I planned to use for you.
Others intangible like the names rolling around now permanently relegated to the ether, Magnus if you were a boy Blythe if you were a girl or possibly Celia, maybe Astrid, they will not be narrowed down without you.
I watch Eve and her tenderness with new babies and am saddened that she will never meet you and teach you all the naughty and beautiful things that she excels at.
The knowledge that it has always been difficult does not diminish the sorrow of knowing I will never breastfeed again. Nor does my puffy unmodel like pregnancy figure outweigh the desire to feel the strange beauty of feeling someone grow within me.
I wonder who you would have looked like and if you would have been laid back or busy like Eve.
I wonder if my patience would have multiplied like I know my love would have.
Dear sweet (imaginary) little one I know you would have been a true blessing, I just don’t know that I would have been the mother that you deserve.
All the love that I will never get to lavish on you.