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.
Categories: baby loss