Boy

I knew today would be hard. I've been dreading it for months. I've been hating the fact that I retain dates as well as I do. Today was supposed to be my son's birthday. I remember I asked the nurse at the RE's office is she could tell by the bloodwork what age was reflected of the embryo. She kind of misunderstood me and gave me a due date. January 11. I regretted it immediately. I already grieve what was supposed to have been Michael's birthday and Lana's.

So today, I was supposed to be in the hospital giving birth to my son. I've imagined him looking like Dani. Pink, and tiny, and quiet. Snuggly, and sleepy, and warm. Moving, and nuzzling, and breathing. Ears like Dani. Tiny toes slightly turned in like she still has. He would nurse, E would hold him, and cry like he did when Dani was born. He wouldn't know who to kiss, me or the baby.

As wonderful as the day Dani was born, I mourn all the tiny memories that slip a little further away each day.

When I was pregnant with Dani, we had a boy named picked out long before a girl's name.

It was Geran.

I've been thinking about how I wanted to remember this baby, and I'm going to give him that name.

Geran, my son.