Tomorrow W will be two. We’ve already had the birthday
party, so in my mind he is a two year old. He’s a sweet, funny little kid now.
He will steal your nose and then put it back. He’ll cry for mommy and hit if he
doesn’t get his way. He’ll hug me tight and push me away. He’ll eat more than
me some nights and other nights he’ll be all done after eating one grape. He
loves potatoes. He hates potatoes. He loves Ernie and shoes.
I still cry at night when I rock him to sleep. It’s been
two years, but I still can’t believe that he’s mine. Words can’t describe how
grateful I am to have him.
It’s been 3 years since we lost our little baby boy and
sometimes it still feels like yesterday. Other times it seems like a lifetime
ago. I remember when I first started reading blogs and seeing stories where the
woman was a year or two out from her loss (or losses) and had a child. I
remember thinking that I would never get that far and wondering what I’d be
like when I got to that point. Would I have a baby? Would I have more than one?
Hopefully next year I’ll be happily on the road to a second
baby or have one in my arms!
