The Blue Chair

There’s a blue chair in the corner of my bedroom. I bought it before Kohen was born, planning ahead for nursing him and having things set up for his arrival.

I didn’t get a chance to use it.

But I also didn’t do anything else with it. That blue chair sits in the corner of our bedroom, a reminder of the hope I once held, the baby boy who grew inside of me.

I’m pretty anal about the chair. I don’t let clothes pile on it, but I also don’t use it. The only things allowed on it are some beautiful pillows from my sister…one for Simon and one for Kohen…both depicting our little family of four.

Today, the hope is there again. I’m 22 weeks pregnant with our third child, and I find myself considering the possibilities for the blue chair. I think to myself “I hope. I hope this time I get to use it. I hope my dreams are not crushed this time. I hope I get to keep this baby. I hope this baby gets to come home with me.”

And it seems in equal measures of hope, is fear. Fear that in doing the hardest bravest thing I’ve ever done, to be pregnant again after losing my infant son, that I will live the nightmare again.

Fear. A momma that knows pregnancy does not guarantee a child to raise. A pregnancy that has been a secret as long as possible in attempt to protect my heart from further pain. But man, from day 1 I was way too far down the path of hoping again for any attempts at self preservation to be effective!! A momma reluctant to wear maternity clothes and proudly display my growing belly.

The questions are hard! The responses are so difficult. “Congratulations!!” Well, thanks, but don’t you know we’re not there yet? Don’t you know we lost our son? Much much later than this?? “Are you getting excited??” I am excited and thankful to still be pregnant today, but no, I am not excited for what is to come. The end of this pregnancy is what I fear the most. Will the baby live?? “How are you feeling?” Ummm. I really can’t answer that in casual conversation. Physically, this is my easiest pregnancy yet! Emotionally I’m a wreck.

And then the advice, the shared labour stories that thrust me back into the scene of my greatest pain and trauma, the pregnant friends and new babies that don’t know loss.

Gah.

Only four months to go. The longest four months of my life.