I have the Stomach Bug From Hell. It's evil. I landed in the labor hall for a few hours yesterday, tethered to an IV because I was severely dehydrated and all sorts of other unpleasant medical stuff that I pretended not to hear.
It was extremely busy. I guess we all know what the whole world was up to 9 months ago because there were nurses rushing everywhere and very few beds available. I ended up waiting in the waiting room with expectant grandparents for 20 minutes or so before they could even get me into an exam room. Once they'd gotten me changed and the initial exam was over (no signs of labor. Woo.), they sent me to the antepartum wing... to the same room... and the same bed where we found out we'd lost Andrew. And in an uncontrollable flood of chaotic emotion, I relived that entire day in about 3.2 seconds.
The nurse was kind enough to hook me up to the monitor as quickly as she could and within a matter of minutes, this baby (who has a name, but we're not telling) was busy making us laugh with hiccups and wicked soccer kicks and occasionally running away from the nurse as she readjusted the belt. I still felt the sting of our loss, but it faded a bit over the several hours I was there.
I worry about that happening with Andrew. His little brother will be our focus, changing our family, reshaping it. And that's good. I know it is. But I don't want to forget the little boy who wasn't meant to be; the little boy who still makes me cry. I don't quite know how to wrap my head around it.