The last time

When is the last time… you did something for the last time?

Mine was the early morning of December 7th. My husband was fast asleep on my shoulder and I just let him be. This was the last time that we would be an us. Just two. This would be the last time for a while we would sleep soundly and more importantly.. alone.

This would be the end of two and the beginning of three.

But I thought I had more time. I thought that I could prepare, to see 4 and a half more weeks of the special love we shared. Instead you wanted OUT. My belly was probably too small for you. You made me so sick day in and day out that my body never changed. I was 8 months pregnant and had no more than an extra inch on my waist.

It could be because I was so depressed that the thought of food made me violently ill. It could be because I would binge and purge after a meal I thought was too big. Or that I threw up every time I got in the car.

Everything happened so quickly…

I felt the contractions and I knew. They would start at 8 minutes apart and quickly turn to three minutes apart. You were ready… something I wasn’t. I called Jacob and told him to come home. That it was probably nothing. But we packed your bag anyway… with the onesies that wouldn’t fit you for another three months. The clothes we once deemed tiny were not tiny at all.. not as tiny as you. Tiny fighter.

An hour later we were at the hospital and I was in the room having my cervix checked to see how far I was. I was only a centimeter along and there was no stopping you. An hour after that, my IV was started and I was being prepped for the C section we’d planned. I had 5 nurses in my room, all asking me questions. Poking me and taking my blood. Do I have a will and do I want extraordinary measures taken?

And then he said it was time..

It was time to take that baby from my stomach. I got a pillow to clench while they stuck the needle in my back and told me not to move or I could be paralyzed. So there I sat while he infected the serum into my spine and quickly everything from my chest down was numb and all too quickly my mind went numb too. The only thing I could feel was a stream of tears coming from my face. My surgical tech asked if I was excited and all I could do is cry harder. I tried to smile and hide the feelings I really had.

That I wasn’t ready, that I didn’t want this. It was all too soon and it wasn’t apart of the plan. I’m supposed to be in college, not being dissected on a table. I’m supposed to be at work with the animals and treating them. We were supposed to be going on vacation and taking in all the views of the mountains we’d climbed up just the year before.

I saw your little face when they pulled you out, and I just felt dead. THAT is what I grew? It’s a boy? MY boy? OUR boy? And just like that our lives would never be the same.

We’d gone on to change him and feed him tiny bottles. We had to borrow onesies from the hospital because he was too small for ours.

He was 5 pounds, 2 ounces and full of vibrancy.

From day one, he just captured the soul from everyone around him. They ooh'ed and ahhh'ed.. but me? I was just holding this frail thing in my arms and I couldn’t understand why. Why this was happening when it wasn’t apart of the plan.

We eventually took you home and I sat in bed and did nothing but cry. I can’t even tell you how many days had passed that I never said a word. Just cried.

I couldn’t UNDO what I’d done.

Where was that feeling everyone told me I’d get? The stars in my eyes and the warm feeling in your stomach from all of the love and butterflies ?

That first week I lost 40 pounds and I could feel my bones sticking through my skin. My stomach was growling and was being sucked up into my ribs. “Look how tiny!” they all exclaimed. I would force a family and keep walking with this baby I was toting around with me.

And little did I know it would be the last time that my husband would look at me like he loved me. It went from love to disgust. Hate even.. that I didn’t love the baby we had made together. Weeks passed and more “lasts” flooded. Last time we’d be shopping for two, last time we’d talk about a day trip to escape Valdosta, the last time we would have sex alone. The last time that we would – or he would love eachother. A hundred firsts just crumbling down to our feet and they’re still free falling into the deep.

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