I am so excited for Rowan that it usually makes my heart hurt. I am so excited that it gives me anxiety. This little voice in the back of my head calls me a fool and tells me to chill out on the excitement because you still have four months to go.

I’m so excited and so scared at the same time that even typing or speaking her name feels like a cardinal sin. Will she make it four more months in my womb? I hope so.

It feels silly to hope for something so bad and know that in an instance it can disappear. I can’t help it though. I am so excited for Rowan that it usually makes my heart hurt. My chest fills with tension and my stomach drops like I’m on a roller coaster. I want to buy her all the things and continue to make all the plans, but sometimes it feels silly.

The voice says, who I am kidding? Do you really think this will end differently? And a part of me honestly thinks it will, but that doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t feel silly.

Every time she moves and she grooves I get some relief and in the same breathe I tense up wondering if this will be her last movement. Will today be the day she kicks her last kick? My heart couldn’t bare it, another loss. I can’t even imagine losing another baby at this point and that scares me. That narrative doesn’t fit into my story. I’ve been through enough. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. 

Sending out shower invites and getting closer to the weeks when we lost Ben feels like added pressure. What will happen if it happens again? I am use to the uncertainty by now and I wake up every morning feeling so grateful for the little jabs and rolls I get to feel. But I am still bitter to the women who get to enjoy this adventure and stroll through it with little worry. Why does my story always have to be so sad? 

Please not this time. Let there be a happy ending.

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