27 weeks

Today, I am 27 weeks pregnant with Baby Elijah.

It feels like it was just yesterday that I had told my mom we were expecting again. It was Christmas time. I had wrapped a new Angel tree-topper for a gift and labeled the gift tag "To: Grandma, From: Baby Cedergren". She was holding Paighton at the time, and he was helping her tear off the shreds of paper from the box as she read the gift tag. She looked up at me, no words, mouth open. Then when her mind came to a slower thinking, out came"Really?", she stammered. Andy and I nodded, with smiles as wide as hers. She started to jump up and down like a 8-year old getting that brand new Barbie doll house, or now-a-days, and new cell phone. The rest of the family stared at her awkwardly as if they didn't know her.

Everyone was excited, especially my husband and I. We wanted to be pregnant again so bad. We even bought our son two different baby dolls to "practice" being a big brother with. He is so sweet towards babies, even real ones. He is the King of Kisses.

I am at the point where Elijah can be born at any time now; or I may still have to endure 13 more weeks of carrying what I call "dead man walking". That's what it feels like. Elijah is alive now, but I know his fate. He is a dead man walking.

My contractions are getting more frequent, and stronger. I am scared. I am scared to go through it all. The labor, the delivery, the birth plan wondering if we are making the right decisions, then the funeral, and finally, the rest of my life without Elijah. My sweet, much wanted son; Elijah.

It is really hard to see and hear of others and their pregnancies right now. When I share a common space at work, whether passing in the hall or in the bathroom, I begin to get a choking feeling. I want to scream. I just imagine them holding, snuggling, and kissing their sweet baby. All of the memories and sleepless nights they will get to have. That is all I want.

I am afraid to hold my son's lifeless body. Growing up as a child, I have always feared death. I couldn't bring myself to attend the funerals my dad would do for us for any pet that passed away, even my most favorite dog when he was purposely hit by a cruel neighbor on his 4-wheeler. I hid in the house and cried. It took me months to even go near where he was buried. That was just a dog. How am I going to manage dealing with my own son? A little tiny human I have carried and felt rolling around inside me? I know we humans are capable of more than we can ever imagine. We do some pretty amazing things when we least expect it. I know I wont refuse to hold my son, alive or dead. I know I wont run and hide. I am just afraid.

I wish I could run and hide from all the evil in this world. I don't want to deal with anything anymore. I want to take my son, my husband, and myself to some place far away where we can explore all the greatness in the world. Where we can touch, smell, and taste everything good; nothing bad and enjoy sharing it with each other. We never have to leave each other. We are never sick, hungry or in pain. All we feel is love.