Dear Elsa

Dear Sweet Baby

I would have been approximately 30 weeks w you today. I would be laying on my couch w my hand on my belly, feeling you move and stretch. I would have fantasized about you growing dark hair and chubby thighs. I would be envisioning you filling the carefully chosen outfits, already washed and folded for you.

Instead, those outfits are in a box w my maternity clothes. Shoved to the side so I don't have to look at them. You no longer reside in my belly, but in a white box. My hand doesn't caress my belly, but is held, clenched, at my side. I don't harbor day dreams, but nightmares.

I had to assist a woman getting formula today. Her son, no older than 1 month, was screaming. She completely ignored his hungry cries and walked w him in the store for 45 mins. That was the second longest 45 mins of my life (first being the time to confirm your death), hearing that precious soul being ignored for convenience. What I would give right now to hear you cry. Bc if you were crying, it would mean you were alive.

I received mail today from my insurance company. I read the first sentence: "We noticed you received pregnancy related coverage lately..." I became unglued. I felt sick. I was losing air. I was filled to the brim of that suffocatingly sharp pain. I was ambushed. I wanted to scream. The throw everything around and rip my hair off. But I didn't. I pushed it down. Pushed it away. To the Deal-With-Later section.

But I'm not pushing you away, Elsa. I think of you everyday. Before I come out of the fogs of sleep. Just as I'm laying down. When I see a woman full w child. When I walk past a sleeping newborn. As the wind blows and plays w my hair. When the sun kisses my cheeks. You are everywhere. You aren't in my womb anymore, but you are always by me. Always reminding me to not sass the customer and that life is still beautiful.

I love you Elsa May. One day I will celebrate your life. I'm still submerged in my grief and pain, but I won't be forever.