... Yesterday I was writing upcoming events on the calender.
I started to add in the number of weeks that is Toby's age. I had only written it on the calender up until 13 weeks.
So I added "14"
And "15".
Then when I got to the next week (which is tomorow), I stopped myself from writing "16".
And then corrected myself and allowed it.
Except then I already felt like I'd jinxed it.
How ingrained has it become for me to not write how many weeks along we are, because everyone knows that when you're pregnant, and you get all excited ahead of your time, and write the numbers in your diary, and then a big EDD in red... that the pregnancy is doomed.
So, I had that moment of feeling sick, that by writing Toby's age on the calender....
Well, I'm not even going to say it. But you get it.
Sometimes I'm almost shocked at myself, just how hard it is to break the habit of not expecting a future. Surely I am allowed to hope a little now? But bad things still happen... :/
I hear you. I marked my Toby's planned section date with an asterisk in pencil next to the date. I didn't dare tempt fate any further. My husband commented how much hope was pinned to that tiny little, tentative star.
ReplyDeleteThey do get chunkier and sturdier and you start to believe that they might stay around - but, once babylost, you never quite lose the sense that you should never take their lives for granted.