I'm sitting here tonight with one hand firmly on my belly, feeling the rolls and wiggles of Baby Sister.
But I'm thinking of Ryan.
As bedtime creeps closer and closer, I'm remembering this night 3 years ago. I can remember the movie we were watching. The snacks I was eating. The very slight movements of Ryan inside me. The "it must be almost time -- he's running out of room" thoughts and feelings. But they were really his last movements. His weak little way of saying something's not right. His last living moments. The 5th was Ryan's last day alive.
When I wake up tomorrow, on the 6th, it will be the day he died. Inside of me. The 6th is always a hard day -- it's even harder pregnant. Half expecting it to all happen again. I won't sleep much tonight, I know. If it's anything like with Brayden, I'll wake often, and poke and adjust hoping to feel her sweet and always treasured movements. Hoping that history won't repeat itself. Worrying that it will.
These are the hardest days.