A baby-shaped space

We moved to our town for the schools.  There are plenty of towns nearer the highway, easier commute for both Chris and me.  But when we were looking at houses to better Chris’s commute, I restricted our search to towns with good schools.  For our kids.  I would spend more time in the car; friends would joke we live in Canada because the distance is so “far;”  we would lament that there are no good restaurants near us.   All so that we can send our kids to the good schools.  It’s what you do for your kids, right?  We bought this big house- people often comment “there’s just the two of you living there?”  All that house for the two of us.  Nope.  All that house for my future family.  We didn’t buy this house for just us.  We bought with kids in mind.  We planned which room would be the nursery. We thought the basement would make a great playroom.  Eventually that exercise room could be a bedroom, once we filled the upstairs bedrooms with kids.  Those kids could ride their bikes on that small street along the side of our property.  We bought a king sized bed- delivered the day we left the hospital in December after the oligohydramnios diagnosis.  I’ve wanted a king sized bed, but it was a luxury we could live without.  Until we had the incentive of a child.  Co-sleeping.  I imagined wanting the extra space so that I could roll over easily at night and breastfeed without having to get up.  Even that darn elliptical was bought with baby in mind.  It was supposed to help me get through the winter when I was too pregnant to run.  It was supposed to be how I exercised postpartum- with baby at my side.  Now that we finally have it replaced, I kind of want to scream at the company- you’re too late.  It’s worthless now. You missed your chance.  This was supposed to be for my baby and my baby died.  Even living my life, in my house, with my stuff is a reminder of what is missing.  I’m hoping that moving to our town, buying the big house, getting a king bed and gaining an elliptical will have been worth our while.  When that universe gets around to being good to me.


Chris and I used to debate how many kids we wanted- I wanted more, he wanted less.  What a nice luxury that was, to think we had a say in how many kids we have.   Frankly, I’ll take one.  One living, breathing, loving child.  One.


It’s too quiet in my house.  I wake up and hear nothing.  Another reminder.  No baby crying.  No alarm going off reminding me to pump.  No garage door opening on my way out to visit the NICU.  Instead I put on Friday Night Lights or Pandora just to fill that empty baby-shaped space.


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