It's a hard thing to lose a baby and know you won't have any more. I have had 15+ miscarriages since I lost Alli. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that my body is just done. I had the testing done. There is no explanation. Well, now, my body is getting older. It's not hard to figure it out. But when Alli passed, I still had time. And my body still would not do it. I'd get them to just about the time I could go in and see the doctor for an ultrasound (though several did not make it that far), and I'd hear that same, chilling phrase, "There is no heartbeat." Or, "The fetus is too small." Either that or the blood, itself, would tell me hope was dead again.
Now, I can only borrow others' babies. I don't do it often because it's an awkward thing to just grab someone else's child if you're not close. And because it can still cause twinges and echoes of pain to think about what I can't have. But every so often, my nephew, his wife, and their little boy toddlers come by. I get my fill of baby giggles, wiggly toddler toes, and sweet-smelling snuggles. I don't have to change diapers or even worry about feeding or calming the child. I get all the perks of being a grandma without a more old-sounding title than great aunt. But I get my baby fix.
Now, I'm looking forward to holding the little girl that will come to them in a few months almost as much as they are. I know it will cause twinges to see those little pink outfits, those sweet little dresses. But I'm also looking forward to snuggling a little baby girl like I haven't in so many years. It's kind of a mixed feeling but mostly positive. For this, I am grateful.
