In October

*This post is about pregnancy after loss.* 

Tomorrow I am 28 weeks pregnant with Ramona's little sister.  Third trimester.  Hopefully in two months we'll bring her home alive.  We are happy and relieved as another pregnancy wasn't looking too promising after eight months of trying, six of those with an RE.

I love this daughter just like I love Ramona.  I want to see her face, I love feeling her move, I am well aware that this is a different baby, different pregnancy, etc.  I am not excited, though.

Pregnancy is not fun anymore.  You don't get that feeling back.  When people approach me with excitement and questions, I feel uncomfortable.  I feel insulted and revolted that people assume this baby will be completely fine and alive, like Ramona was some defective model.

The thing is, both my daughters should be here this fall.  We should be preparing to become a physical family of four.  We should be preparing Ramona to be a big sister, not stressing over whether people will forget Ramona and expect us to be 'all better.'  We will never be all better, we are missing one of the most important people in our life.  This baby has already brought so much joy and happiness into our life, but she doesn't take Ramona's place.  They are both irreplaceable, and the sad thing is, we have no guarantee we'll bring little sister home, either.

Life is fragile and unpredictable and as much as I'd like to believe all babyloss parents should be exempt from all other strife the rest of their lives, life doesn't work that way.  We all take the same chances, we just hope the next time will be different.

Today

I always have the best intentions when I start blogging.  Then I go almost five months without a post. 

I can say today is good.  I never thought I'd be able to say this or actually feel it, but some days are good. 

I felt this for the first time a few weeks ago.  We spent the morning drinking coffee and reading outside in the sun.  Her birds were singing and we were content and I turned to my husband and told him today I was happy for the first time in so long. 

I still laugh when people use the phrase 'still sad' to describe our grief.  We will always be sad.  What other way is there to feel about your dead daughter?  I think about her and feel love, pride, even joy sometimes that we have and will always have such a perfect, beautiful daughter, but there will always be sadness.  There is no way around that, but finally we feel other things that are equal to that.  I can feel sadness for the loss of my daughter, but also happiness in the present and hope for the future. 

People who haven't felt this type of loss think it's abnormal for sadness to be a part of the everyday, but besides my family, they have no idea the strides I've made since December 2013.  I'm out of bed.  I don't cry every single day.  I don't think about death all day.  I don't want to die anymore.  My anxiety attacks are gone.  The level of depression I felt the first year, what led me to seek therapy six months ago, has eased.  Today is a walk in the park compared to the early days.  I will take this sadness, this completely normal emotion, over those feelings any day. 

So today is good.  Today is sad.  Those two things have to coexist together, and that's ok.