Even before I embarked on this sorta-surprise pregnancy, I had no delusions of things going perfectly. I knew I could lose another child. Perhaps this sounds terrible, but I was hoping it would happen early on. I figured I would be less attached, that I could "hold off" on becoming attached for awhile. I don't think all women are this way; I think many are attached from the second they know of the baby's existence. I already have a history of loss so I do my best not to get overly excited about an embryo or a baby who isn't here safely yet. But I had no delusions. There is no protection from that swell of hope and the terrorizing fear that comes along with it. There is no way I can keep from loving the baby that kicks and flips constantly in my stomach and sucks his thumb during ultrasounds.
I can do everything possible to try to hang onto my "wait and see" approach. I can cut off every annoyingly well-intentioned person who starts to say, "When the baby gets here..." I can avoid telling my daughter detailed stories of what a great big sister she is going to be.
But I can't protect us. I can 't save this baby. I can't keep my daughter from remembering she was supposed to have a baby brother if one day there isn't one anymore. I can't keep Jerry from feeling the pain of holding another dead child. I can't save myself from any dangerous complications that might occur. I can't protect us.
I wouldn't say I underestimated the feelings of helplessness that would come. I know I'll start to feel a bit better after we get past 27 weeks, and even better when we are past 30. I know that squashing all hopeful thoughts into oblivion won't spare me any pain in the end.
It's just...damn I hope this all ends well.