January

I don't remember as often. I don't ever forget but here I am, days away from my due date, not quite remembering that anticipated excitement that I had for when this month would finally come. I don't remember as much what he felt like, physically. I remember in my heart the moments we were all together but I don't remember the feeling of pregnancy. I wish I could believe that floating happiness truly existed. But it's so far away now. Late at night I ask myself, was I pregnant? Do I have a child that never lived? Surely that can't be my life I'm having trouble remembering. Everything is so different now. It seems like the farther I get away from it the more doubt I have that I will ever experience those hard-to-remember feelings again. And, in part, it's already true. I will never tell my husband with pure, doubtless wonder that I am pregnant. I will always hesitate to give myself over to the expectation of a growing belly, an excited trip to the maternity store, or going full term. I won't go into appointments excited to see baby again but rather holding my breath in hopes of a heart still beating. Maybe I am wrong in some of this and I will be able to really embrace another pregnancy, but there will always be many things that I do not ever get to experience again, or for the first time even. I am forever changed and so must be my future experiences. Some days, I am made of stone. Cold so that I can be sturdy. And that wasn't me before. That wasn't a part of me. 

Tonight my soul-mate and best friend told me that January is cold in more ways than one. The cold reminds me to layer up, to find warmth and to settle into comfort, next to the people I love the most. And the cold keeps me hard and sturdy. In both ways, I weather the storm. Some days stone and some days soft and plush.