It has been nine months since you were born. October 27, 2016. I wish we could take one of those “nine month” pictures. The kind where I hold you roughly where you hung out in my belly, and then we put it next to the very last picture of my pregnant belly and compare the two.
I wish we could be doing that. There are so many things I wish I could be doing with you today.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it a million times, but I think it’s extremely unfair that Thursdays still exist. And that the 27th of each month exists. It’s the worst when they happen to be the exact same day. Now it has happened twice. Not only is today the 27th, and a Thursday, and exactly nine months, but it also marks thirty-nine weeks since the day you were born. The same number of weeks I was pregnant when we lost you.
A huge part of me can’t believe that it has already been 39 weeks. This time last year we were 25 weeks along, and your little kicks were starting to get so strong. We started setting up the nursery and buying more and more clothes, and trying to decide on a name. This year just feels empty.
There are only so many ways we can track time without you, and it seems like four of the five all happen this month. And even though it gives me a specific time that is set aside to only think about you, I’d really rather that you were here every second of the day, making it hard to focus on anything else. When my alarm buzzes every Thursday and each month on the 27th, my movements slow and I stop what I’m doing to think about you and only you. Some days I barely scratch the surface, other days I relive the entire process, from the second we found out you were gone until the day we buried you. Neither way is easy. And as hard as I try, I generally end up in tears.
So many people said it would get easier, but I think they kind of lied.
What would you be doing right now, at nine months old? Would you be crawling like crazy around the house? Pulling yourself up to stand against the couch? Playing so much and talking nonstop just like your mom? You would be daddy’s little buddy, and my best friend. And maybe the cats would have taken to you by now. Hopefully.
We would be spoiling you like crazy, that I know for sure. We’re still trying to do that, even though you aren’t here, so it’s just a little harder. We make a day trip to see you at the cemetery as often as we can, and always try to take a toy or flowers. We buy you a souvenir on each of our trips, and keep as many airplane trinkets as we can around the house, so that there are little reminders of you everywhere we look. But even without those things, I know we’d never forget to remember you. Not on the 27th, or on any other day of any year.
Nine months in, and nine months out, my sweet Carter boy. Nine months with you in my belly, nine months of you not being here. Nine months of preparing to be parents, nine months of parenting differently. Nine months of loving you before we knew you, and forever more to love you until we see you again.