I want my baby

Every night, and every morning, there is only one thought in my mind. I want my baby. I want my daughter. I don’t want any baby, or any daughter. I want Avalon. I want her like I want my own innocence back. I want the piece of me that brought me wonder and joy every time I looked in a mirror, or felt her move, or listened to her heartbeat. I want the thoughts we shared together, only her and me, two pieces of a whole.

I want my baby. I want my daughter. I want not to close my eyes and only see her eyes closed eternally, and her body swelling and darkening, and the doctor’s sad eyes. I want to sleep without reliving over and over the moment she came from inside of me, and she died. I felt her die the way I had felt her live, deep down, in some animal instinctual place. It’s as close as I’ve ever come to dying myself.

Everyone says, “you’ll have more babies, so many people have losses and go on to have babies”. But I don’t want them. I want Avalon. I don’t want to go anywhere or do anything or be anywhere. I want my baby.

Advertisements

Categories: baby loss

1 Comment »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s