The Dream vs. The Reality

One of my first (and only) purchases after learning I was pregnant was a daily pregnancy journal. It outlined every single day of pregnancy, from conception to delivery, giving specific details as to what was developing when. It helped me to visualize my little guy in there, as I read about and rooted him on.

This journal also had a section that you could personalize to your experience. It asked questions about how you found out you were pregnant, whom you shared the news with and when, how you felt, etc. The idea is to create a portrait of your pregnancy that you could one day share with your child.

When I was pregnant, the one section that I left blank, that I couldn't bring myself to fill out, was "What are your hopes and dreams for this child?" (emphasis mine)

I couldn't do it then, so early into the pregnancy, when so much could go wrong. I couldn't allow myself to have hopes and dreams that could so easily be snatched away. In an effort to protect myself, I didn't write anything down.

It didn't matter. The hopes and dreams were still there, verbalized or not.

I had hopes, my child, that you would grow. I had dreams about feeling you move within me, about placing your daddy's hands on my belly and seeing the tears and wonderment in his face.

I dreamt about finally getting to hold you, about memorizing your face and your hands and every single tiny part of you.

I hoped to provide you with a loving home, full of creature comforts, lacking nothing.

I dreamt of cuddling with you and reading stories. Of sharing new experiences with you. Of watching you grow and learn.

I dreamt of seeing the world -- fresh and new and full of hope -- through your eyes.

I hoped to teach you so many things: how to ride a bike, how to bake a cake, how to tell a joke. To be kind to animals, generous to strangers, and patient with yourself.

I dreamt of a life with you, filled with possibilities and adventure and love.

Now, I am faced with the reality that these dreams will never be. Whether or not I eventually have another child, my life with YOU will never be. I will never know what you look like, what your interests might be, what kind of personality you would have had. Would you have been graced with your daddy's curls or his stubby feet? Would you have liked sports like him, or more artsy things like me? Would you have been book-smart like your momma or people-smart like Daddy? Would you have been the class clown, always the center of attention or more sensitive and quiet?

I had hopes for you, my child. I had dreams of learning all about you, about what makes you unique and special. You are one-of-a-kind, and no future child will ever be able to take your place.

You are my first baby.

I love you.

And my heart is broken because I will never get to hold you and tell you so.