As Momma's pregnancy with The Bean progresses, a question has begun to pop up with alarming frequency. The question always comes from someone who means well, but would have no way of knowing our story. It's such a painful question, and always opens the door to a number of potential answers...some more truthful than the others.
"Oh! Is this your first baby?!"
The non-negotiatiable answer: "No."
From there, all bets are off.
"Great! Is your first a boy or girl?"
"A boy."
"And, do you know what you're having now?"
"Yes, a boy."
Some people don't pursue the subject. Others start down the path, but don't try to go too far...maybe they pick up on the short, one word answers. But there are others...well...they want to know how old my first son is, and OH! isn't 2 such a wonderful age?! What new fun things has he done lately?!
Somewhere around that point, I have to be the proverbial skunk at the garden party.
"Actually, while I appreciate your interest, I need to let you know - my first son passed away in January at 16.5 months."
Sound technician, please cue the crickets.
Peanut, is there a better way to handle this? I am so out of my element with these questions. But, I know I am going to be faced with them for a lifetime. Is there ever a good, or a right, answer?
I've had to answer that question, to face that same uncomfortable question, twice today. On top of an overly busy schedule, this has really taxed Momma emotionally. I need to find the answer that feels "right." But...will any answer ever truly feel right? Probably not.
Peanuckle, I'm staring at a picture of you with a giant grin on your face, and I just can't believe you're gone. I can't believe I'm even having to think about this question/answer scenario. All I want to do is hold and kiss you. Smell you. Tickle your feet and toes. And whisper in your ear as you settle in for the night, "Sweet son of mine...I love you, to the moon and back."
- Momma
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