When you miss your baby, you play Claire de Lune and think of how much she would have loved to listen to you play piano.
You look at her pictures and you re-memorize her face.
You think of baby names for her baby brothers and sisters.
When you miss your baby, you listen to the song that your brother-in-law wrote for her, and you cry a little bit because as the lyrics say, “I can’t wait til I see you again.”
You open that bag the nurse gave you with her clothes that smell like her bath.
You think about going in her room, but you don’t.
When you have lost your baby, you sometimes can’t believe that this is really your life.
You look at pregnant women with a touch of envy.
You think the baby kicked and then remember that you aren’t pregnant anymore.
When you’ve lost your baby, all you want to think about is being pregnant with the next.
You want your family. Not necessarily the one that you have. The one you built and didn’t get, somehow.
Your heart aches for its biggest and most important part. That part that is missing and that you can’t get back, no matter how soon you can get pregnant again, no matter how many babies you have.