It's been a while. In fact, I think I skipped over November entirely. Don't think I haven't been thinking about you though. I think about you at least once every day. You know, even after two months, it's still hard to believe I had you. Every time I really let myself think about you and what you were like, I tear up or cry.
I was reading on another mother's blog today. She had a couple statistics saying anencephaly occurs in 1 out of 1,000 pregnancies but only 3 out of 10,000 live births. Additionally, 95% of babies with your condition are aborted for various reasons. That means there was a 0.1% chance of you having anencephaly, a 5% chance you would have parents who would let you take all the time you needed on this earth, and 0.03% chance you would be born alive. That's not even to mention the unlikely-hood of your miraculous 4.5 day life. Take all that in for a minute.
There's no question you were and are a miracle. You had so much going against you, yet you braved it all and amazed everyone who would hear your name.
It's twelve days short of your three-month birthday, which means it's twenty-two days before Daddy and I will have been married for fourteen months. I've been thinking of a missionary friend I've been meaning to write, but I'm not sure what to tell her. "Hey Sister G, guess what? You know how I got married shortly before you left? Well, I got pregnant, but don't expect to meet her. Don't ask why."
That's not suspicious.
Oh well. I'm sure she'd just enjoy getting a letter, regardless of the contents.
Since moving into our new place, I've had a lot of time to think about what I might like our next baby's nursery to look like. At the moment, we've got a mostly-empty room with just a changing table I might paint, depending on how I decide to decorate the room, and a few empty boxes we used for moving. And I will be decorating it, don't you worry. I didn't get to do that with you.
Our next child - poor thing - is going to get twice the crazy new parents would usually have. Not only will we have a new baby, the baby will be our first living child and the recipient of both the affection we've been dying to pour onto you and the affection he or she deserves as our precious baby (some would call them our "Rainbow Baby.") It's a blessing and a curse, I guess.
Another point also came up while reading the other mother's blog: "What will we tell our other children?" Sure, I guess it would be easy to explain that one of their older sisters passed away when she was a baby, but what do we say when they see she is missing the top of her skull? Children can be so brutally honest sometimes. I guess we'll just have to take those conversations as they come, and bite our tongue if our little ones don't have quite the gentleness we'd like.
I love you sweetheart. That will never, ever change. I think of you often. I imagine what you must look like as a spirit - beautiful and elegant, of course. Big, blue eyes; long, brown hair; those long fingers and feet, and the sweetest, cutest, pair of perfectly pink lips. Truly, even if you look nothing like that, I will love you endlessly. Thinking of you, angel.