I look down and see the blood dripping and in that split second I know that you are gone. Today, today I was going to drive myself to one of those stores and pick up one of those tests and register for
more diapers than you could ever use (because they will still not be enough), onesies in all colors, especially blue, green, and violet (little baby girls shouldn’t be limited to pink and yellow), bottles that tilt so that not as much air seeps into the milk and you don’t burp as much (although, I will love burping you), a breast pump (they say it’s better that you have breast milk), a stroller (the safe kind that can’t dump over and it has to have a sun visor and cup holders), a Jumping Johnnie (they were so much fun when I was little, but we won’t get you one if there are reports that they’re dangerous), lots and lots of baby blankets (bib substitutes and it seems that you’ll be born this winter), bibs and spit up rags (most other babies specifically aim away from these, but they ease my mind), a bassinette (it will be beautiful and I know that you’ll outgrow it quickly, so we’ll also get), a crib (one with put-down rails so it can grow with you), lots of classical CDs (especially Chopin and Beethoven, I like them and they’ll make you smarter), lots of books (potty training ones because I hope to get an early start on that), cute outfits (you’ll be adorable in them), and What to Expect When You’re Expecting (because I have no idea)
I see you after you’re born and I’ve named you in honor of your daddy’s grandma. You are so tiny and I hurriedly count fingers and toes and they’re all present. You begin screaming and I cuddle you close and still, you don’t stop. You want your daddy and I can’t blame you, I was once a daddy’s girl too, although now I’m quite attached to your daddy. I picked him out for me, but for you also. Something about his way told me that he would be a daddy that I could raise a baby girl with. He’s got you cuddled against his chest now, a place I’ve been a thousand times, a place I’m willing to share with you, Baby Girl. I know that when you feel scared or lonely that you’ll run to this daddy-man and that is the way it is supposed to be. You are so small next to him and he is a working man whose skin is a study in contrasts next to your just-born skin.
When you begin walking, you fall into your daddy’s arms first and then take two steps back towards me. It works better if you walk to Daddy from my arms because he makes you smile and giggle and you forget that you’re not holding onto anything. He’s also been the best burper since we brought you home from the hospital and while you let me feed you, he’s the only one that can slip those pureed artichokes past your yucky-vegetable radar. We have our moments too. Despite his best intentions, your daddy doesn’t wake very easily at night and we have the nighttime hours all to ourselves. My lullabies may be off-key, but if your daddy can’t hear them, I can’t be that bad. I need to stop singing to you so that you’re not tone deaf when you grow up. You have music in your genes, you know; your grandpa is talented and your great grandma studied at Julliard.
I am not at all surprised how in love you are with your uncles and them with you. From the moment they knew you existed, they pampered you and pledged their undying love and devotion. Not once have they reneged on their promise, even when you got some projectile vomit in Uncle’s mouth. At times I think they play a little rough with you, but I’m overprotective and I know that they are always safe. One of the uncles bought you your favorite “I [heart] big trucks” tee shirt. I’m lucky that I can get that off of you long enough to wash it. Your super cool aunt has already bought you heels and jewelry in anticipation of you growing up. She adores you and calls long distance once a week just to hear your two-year-old phone mumbles. Your grandmas are obsessed with you and they buy you far too many toys, but just enough books, because you can never have enough. I think there are toys in your room that you haven’t even had a chance to stick in your mouth. I can’t believe that your grandpas hold onto you so tightly, taking you from my arms when I walk in the door and then giving you back at the last possible moment as to spend as much time with you as possible. I think it is a gross underestimate to say that you are well loved.
I look down and see the blood dripping and in that split second I know that you are gone. I had so much planned for you and now I have to disappoint so many people with the news that you aren’t coming yet. I knew you weren’t here. I didn’t want you to be here yet. I’m only twenty and still in college and your daddy and I have a wedding date set, but we’re not married. I don’t want to tell your daddy; he’ll be crushed. He wanted you more than I even wanted you and he kept talking to my belly and knowing, just knowing, that you were in there, microscopic and swimming around. I have to tell him that you weren’t there and that he will still make an amazing daddy someday.
I need to explain to your uncles, your aunt, your grandmas and grandpas, that it will be a little bit longer and they will sigh with relief because they were not ready either and they want everything to be perfect for you. I do too and I know that now is not the right time, but I could have been your mommy. I would have been a good mommy, like mine, and you would have loved me almost as much as you loved your daddy, well, until you reached puberty and then you would hate me for a few years. I would still love you.
The blood doesn’t mean you disappeared or that you aren’t okay; it means that there is a better time for us to meet than nine months from now. I will see you someday soon and we will have a ball, but now is not your time. Now is my time to be a baby girl to my daddy and for me to figure out how to be a wife to your daddy. I love you and I will see you soon.
Written May 10, 2005
