It's hard to believe just 12 weeks have passed.
That's the length of one trimester.
The first 2 months were the longest, but this last month has passed at almost a normal speed.
Things are starting to feel almost normal again.
I miss him every single day, not a day goes by where he isn't on my mind and I have days where my grief overwhelms me.
I don't feel guilty for being happy. I promised A I would allow myself to. I think if I didn't make all these promises to him, I would.
Maybe.
I can look forward to things again.
I can see his stuff and not feel that wave come towards me.
I can hear my 3YO say "he's in the box not in your belly" and not feel sad anger that he says that about his baby brother instead of laughing at him giggle.
A would be giggling now, maybe even rolling over. He would be a chunky baby, fat rolls all over.
He would be nursing often, spending the days nestled in my arms or a sling.
He would be snuggled up to me in bed, keeping me warm and I would be tired, desperate for sleep.
We would be just coming out of the 4th trimester...
Except he isn't. He never will. Wrapping my head around that took time.
I still hate it though.
Maybe I will get a rainbow to go through these things with, maybe just to quieten the voice in my head that keeps reminding me of what I am missing.
