This week, my older son keeps asking, “would baby Noah have been born now?” Meaning, if he hadn’t died, how old would he be now, etc. Maybe I am in a place of of acceptance (or denial), but my heart feeling is that nothing could have unfolded any differently and that, no, he was born in Nov. and while I thought at the beginning of my pregnancy that he would be born in May, it was never actually going to happen (and thus, no, he wouldn’t have been born now). When L asks the question though, I know what he is asking and so I answer from that original place of what we thought was going to happen, “yes, he would have been born now. About 7 weeks old. Probably hot and sweaty and nursing all the time.” However, my brain and heart cannot really GO to a place where he would have been born now—I literally feel my head skitter away from the thoughts that I “should” or could have a little baby in arms right now. Like it mentally hurts to risk going into that could/should-have-been territory.
The kids have asked a LOT of complicated questions over the past 7 months. I think I do a good job answering them, if I do say so myself. They probably talk about him in some way every other day or so—not in a sad way, but in a matter of fact way or in a curious way. (For example, when setting up dollhouse people this week, Z laid out all the dolls and named them the same names as members of our family, including naming the baby doll Noah.) I think it is nice that they feel like he is a real part of their lives and that they remember the little brother who is not with us.