No, Just One
My husband and I were on vacation this past week. While in the elevator, a couple had two children in a stroller. One about 4 and the other 2. I smiled at them and said, “That makes me miss our daughter.” She smiled back and said, “Just one?”
I smiled back and said, “Yeah, just one.” She said, “For now?” and I replied, “No, just one…” and looked down at the floor. She repeated, “For now?” and while I know she didn’t know my struggle, part of me wanted to scream at her, to lash out at her, to tell her to mind her own business.
I was supposed to be 23 weeks pregnant that day. And I knew it. I know the week of pregnancy I SHOULD be on. I know that I should have a protruding belly at this point. I know what should be happening.
After our daughter was born, my husband and I threw around the idea of a second child and ultimately vetoed it. When we found out we were pregnant for a second time (surprisingly), we were scared but excited. After my miscarriage, I was hopeful that he would still want to try for a second earthbound baby, but he was firm in his previous decision to only have one. We would’ve absolutely loved and adored our second child if he would’ve made it in this world, but he was not planned.
I’ve been putting off writing this blog because when I type these words, I know the chance of having a second really are over. That the decisions are made and our second will be heaven bound instead.
So for the rest of my life, I’ll just be replying, “No, just one…”