Mourning

The other day, I read a post by a recently-delivered mama of twins.  [Please read it, it's wonderful!]  While her boys are mostly healthy, they were born a bit premature, and so they had to spend some time in the NICU, which is always hard for parents.  And not less so "just" because their babies aren't severely sick.

Her experience with her twin boys really resonated with me.  In my struggle with infertility, and now with a lengthy and drawn-out and unpredictable adoption experience, I feel a growing sense of loss.

The Loss of ultrasound appointments and announcing "We're pregnant!"  Informing the grandparents that they are, for the first time or once again, grand.  Missing those baby-kicks inside me, or the first tell-tale signs of labor: this is it--we will see our baby soon.  The Loss of experiencing those first precious days of our baby's life with her.  Seeing her first smile.  Sleepless nights, and early morning snuggles with a swaddled, cuddly newborn babe.  Even sore nipples from that unique breastfeeding relationship.  All these things I am missing.