thinking of you baby loss moms

I think about baby loss moms all the time. I think about infertile women, too. I think about them in the grocery store, a place that for months made me squirm and cry and rage. I have a beautiful little baby girl in my cart now, something that only weeks before, had I seen someone else with a baby girl in a cart, would have made me cringe. Other baby loss moms, infertile women, see me and feel a punch in their gut. They can’t see my loss and pain. I guess it just goes to show that you don’t know about the hardships of others just by looking at them.

I think a lot about baby loss moms when I blog. To go from writing almost solely about dealing with the loss of my precious daughter, to suddenly posting cute little baby feet photos and updates on sleep patterns and pediatrician visits, is such a switch. I suppose it’s something like when someone has their rainbow baby. I know it’s not easy to read. I know it’s best not even to look, at times. I’m sorry, truly, in the depths of my being, for the pain that looking at my blog has caused since the arrival of Jo Jo.

I love all of the baby loss moms I follow in the blogosphere. I remember their babies daily. I say their names. Hazel. Willow. Eliza. Avery. Clara. Luke. Finley. Zachary Cooper. Aisley. Margaret. Hudson. Anja. Georgina. Alexander. And so many more that I’m not thinking of at the moment… I picture each baby, perfect little features, growing into toddlers, playing together, reaching for their mommies. I miss them all, in a way. I want them all back.

I stare at my little Jo Jo, marveling at her beauty and sweetness. I know that somewhere out there is a mother who, by some miracle, tempted fate in every way, with drugs and alcohol and who knows what, and still had a healthy, living baby. She beat every single odd, while I, who played it completely safe, who longed to be awake with a crying baby, calming and cuddling her, could not. And that this mother, relinquishing the mothering role, still brought a precious child into my life, in a round about way. So we are connected, this stranger and I, even if she doesn’t know it. We are a certain kind of soul mate. With every day that goes by, I pray to keep Jo Jo. I pray to keep my daughter’s gift. I draw her close to me and breathe her baby smell, and think about how someone as unlucky as me could be so lucky as to be holding this motherless child right now. Two beings, Jo Jo and I, who needed each other in ways few people could understand.

Author: Mother of All Things

Mother by fostering, adoption, and marriage... wife to my best friend... Bay area critical care nurse... travel in my blood, reading in my bones, clean food on my mind!

7 thoughts on “thinking of you baby loss moms”

  1. thanks for the sensitivity, it’s almost easier to read coming from a loss mom if that makes sense? Maybe because they have a different perspective. Please dont feel bad, I am so happy for you!! Enjoy each and every day.. that is what our babies taught us to live like. Big hugs

  2. I know you may feel bad, but honestly, when I see another mother of loss with a baby, it gives me so much hope and joy in my heart! I think about Avalon a lot. I also have been hoping, praying, everything in between that you get to keep beautiful JoJo. She couldn’t have a better mom.

  3. I’ve posted a couple of times on your blog since the loss of your precious Avalon. I know that you still miss your baby girl so very much, and I think it is absolutely fantastic that you have opened your broken heart to love and mother another precious child. You are such a blessing to Jo Jo. I know that no one can ever replace Avalon in your heart, but there is room enough in your heart for both of your girls, and that is wonderful! It is often impossible to understand why things happen they way they do in this life, but it seems that all we can do is go with flow and keep forging ahead. My hat is off to you!

  4. I love hearing about Jo Jo. I think it’s wonderful that you two have found each other.

    Thank you so much for thinking of her, for remembering her, for writing her name. My sweet little Margaret. Your lovely Avalon. I’ve found such comfort in the other moms who have lost their little ones. Sometimes I like to think that wherever they are, they’re all friends. That just as we find comfort in each other, they have found each other too.

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