My first child died less than a year ago. She was born just shy of 23 weeks and lived for fifteen minutes as her father and I sang to her, held her, had her baptized, and kissed her as she died. It was a terrible, terrible experience.
I am pregnant again, and it is terrifying. I am currently at 30 weeks, so if this child were born tomorrow chances of survival would be very high, but I still live in a state of worry. When I haven't felt him/her move for a while, when he/she moves too much, when something just doesn't feel right, I worry. I don't think I am allowing myself to believe that I will bring home a live baby this time around. Any time I don't feel the baby move, I start imagining what the funeral will need to be like and whether or not there is a plot near I's grave. And then I remind myself of the God I believe in, and I do kick counts, and then I can breathe again.
On one hand I am resentful that my innocence has been lost. But on the other hand I am thankful that I take nothing for granted with this pregnancy. Each milestone and each moment is a big deal and something to be celebrated. In fact, I am lying in bed right now watching my belly shift with the baby's movement, and I am in awe. I never was able to experience this with his/her big sister.
I take this pregnancy day by day, and sometimes minute by minute. I don't know if I will ever be able to do this again, but I am doing it now.