Our Girl

Though we have some pictures of Haven, I find it difficult to look at them some days. It just hurts to remember. Seeing them always reminds me that these are the only photos I'll ever have of my beautiful girl. That I'll never know what her eyes looked like, or what her cries would have sounded like, or any of the other thousands of things I'll never know about her. Yesterday, I was looking at her pictures and it struck me again how much she looks like her daddy. I said all through my pregnancy how much I hoped she would, and sure enough!

I've said to family and friends how surprised I was when she came out that she was exactly what I'd envisioned. Tall, thin, long feet, dark hair, and a face like her dad. You can know a lot about a baby just by carrying one. I knew she was tall because I could always feel her position in my belly. I knew her feet were long because I could see and feel them pushing through my skin. I knew that her hand was frequently by her face because I could often feel it. She even came out with her hand resting on her cheek. It's the only reason I tore, the nurses said. I didn't mind - she was just leaving her mark.

I love this photo of her, though it breaks my heart how much it looks like she is just sleeping...

Knowing that she is no longer inside me makes me feel vulnerable and exposed and empty. Sometimes I still hold my belly for comfort, as if the heat and pressure of my hand will somehow reach her and communicate that mommy misses and loves her. Or I'll hold one of her few possessions as if it's some sort of earth-heaven walkie system and she can "hear" me and my love.

Grief does weird things to you. It makes me feel a little more normal reading other moms' blogs and recognizing things that I do and feel and think in their words. I hope that other moms find my blog and get some comfort from my story as well.

I love you, Haven. You'll always be mama's girl.