In May, at 23 weeks, I started having contractions and bleeding. I was sufficiently freaked out. I didn't know what to do. I would have been happy going on bedrest, but I would have had to drop out of school. I wasn't dilating, but my doc put me on -nifedipine- to help stop the contractions and it worked, so I resumed my daily activities. The one time I missed a dose, I had major cramping, so I had to be careful to take my pills on time every day. Needless to say, thanks to this fun experience with preterm labor, it further solidified my idea that this baby would not make it to his due date. For some reason (probably for simplicity's sake) when people asked when I was due, I still said, "September 14th". So, for 6 months, 9/14 was on my mind, coming out of my mouth, and I associated this date with my little Kayden.
Of course, we all know the story from there; Kayden would live inside me until June 14th and no further. He was born sleeping on the 16th, and was laid to rest in the ground on the 23rd.
So why does today suck so bad? It's just a day on the calendar. It's on all my paperwork from my pregnancy: "EDD (Estimated Due Date) or EDC (Estimated Date of Confinement) : 9/14/12. Maybe it's the idea that this date should have been a happy one and it's not; that I should be a mother and I'm not; that I should have finally gotten to hear my baby cry after years of yearning for and wishing for that sound.
I have the right to be sad today, I know that. I didn't think I would need to-even yesterday when I casually mentioned to some ladies that I was supposed to be due today, I didn't feel anything. But I woke up with a heavy heart this morning and it was unexpected and frustrating. So for today I will allow myself to feel sad and think of my sweet Kayden.
