I wasn't sure how I would handle May 30 when it rolled around. All month, I looked at the end of the calendar and felt a tiny pang of grief. Today would've been my due date.
It's strange, but I'm not even sure what there is to say about it.
Yes, I still mourn our child that would've been, but now that I have a little emotional distance from the situation, I really do know that something was wrong. All of the research I've done on my own, all of the explanations from our doctors about how something "just didn't click" makes sense to me now. It still hurts, but I've let go of the anger.
At the time, I had difficulty getting over how perfect a May baby would've been. Our child would've been sitting up and interacting by Christmas. We could've thrown annual birthday parties outside in our back yard. I wouldn't have been pregnant during the real heat of summer. My maternity leave would've been June, July and August. Besides having an entire summer off from work, it would've been easier to get back into shape with the weather being so accommodating for outdoor activities. There were so many pluses.
But now I see that there is no "perfect" day or week or month or year, just the joy of welcoming new life and reveling in all of the magic and wonder of discovery as they develop and learn and grow.
Now I can't wait to see how much joy a newborn will bring to our house at Christmas. And annual fall birthday parties. I'll have the entire holiday season of November, December and January off. Our baby will be sitting up and interacting in time to swim in the pool. Plus, I might be forced to join a gym -- a great motivation to get back into shape.
Sure, I will forever wonder what would've been. And I have a feeling May 30 will stick in my head much longer than I'd even like it to. Maybe until my last breath.
If it does, every year I'll send out a silent wish.
Happy birthday, baby.