Great news from the doctor’s office – no appreciable change in the past 10 days. I can’t tell you the relief I feel. As if I’ve gotten a bonus 10 days of pregnancy. 34 weeks looks ever more possible.
Welcome to the world of grief and pregnancy. I flit easily between sadness, despair and hope. Last night as I went to sleep, I felt sad as I often do, and tried to remember details about Natan. I suddenly felt unsure about whose feet his had resembled more, mine or Josh’s. Meaning, was his second toe long, much longer than the first like mine, or short like his father’s? I got up to look at the plaster-of-paris impression of his feet. They were like mine. A long second toe. I’ll never know how much like mine, though. Would he have cultivated this trait? Learned to type with his odd toe? Would he have been embarrassed by it as a teenager, or never cared about it whatsoever? As I’ve said before, he looked like a perfect little combination of Josh and me. He had two of my signature traits – both of which I got from my dad – an upturned nose and long toe.
I felt better after looking at the impressions of his tiny feet. But not completely satisfied. I apparently am not at peace with having to open a drawer and a box and pull out a piece of plaster to inspect my son’s feet.
Afterwards, I had a dream that my parents’ labrador retriever chewed up Natan’s box and broke the mold. The anguish I felt at discovering it was incredible, just thinking of it now makes my chest ache. I took the remaining pieces to a Mexican restaurant to show Josh (inexplicable detail for you) and sat there trying to fit the little pieces together inside the little shell we picked up during our trip to Florida in February and put in his box. The shell was broken too though. I couldn’t figure out whether we had all the pieces. I sat there for a long time after everyone had left, unsuccessfully trying to convince myself that I could be satisfied with the little bits that had survived.
Powered by ScribeFire.