Six months ago I was lying in a hospital bed blissfully unaware of the pain that Patrick and I were about to endure.
Six months ago I could feel Joshua kick and move inside me.
Six months ago I was happy.
Six months ago my house was filled with baby clothes, a crib, cloth diapers, and anticipation of bringing our first baby home.
Six months ago the future seemed full of more joy than sorrow.
Six months ago at 7:09 pm the most amazing little person entered this world.
Six months ago we were relived to hear that our son was healthy and strong.
Six months ago…
With babies you are focused on every milestone. That doesn’t change when your baby dies. Six months feels huge. The 20th and the 22nd have hit me hard every month. Of course I think about Josh everyday, but the day he was born and the day we lost him are different. The ache always feels a bit deeper on those days.
So today, our son should be six months old. He should be rolling over, giggling, and sitting in his blue bumbo seat. I should be playing peak a boo and singing silly songs to hear him laugh. We had planned that six months would be when we would introduce him to one of our favorite past times and take him to his first Royals game. These things will never happen and the 20th of every months is a reminder that hurts.