Your Due Date

Happy Due Date, Milo. 

When we first found out we were pregnant, like most couples, the first thing we did was calculate your due date. It was so exciting to see your estimated date of 7-8-25. You were due just one month and a day before your brother. I never would have expected that I'd spend your due date at your gravesite. 

It's hard to believe that it's been almost 3 weeks since you came into this world. These past three weeks have flown by, and simultaneously gone by in slow motion. 

I replay the day you were born, and the 17 hours of your life, over and over in my mind. Did we do the right things? How could I have prevented the hemorrhaging? Why didn't I take more pictures/videos? Should we have called family up sooner? On, and on. My brain doesn't really stop when it comes to those two days. We said from early on, you'd tell us what you need, and you did, but my momma heart still wants to save you. 

As it goes with grief, we've had our days. It ebbs and flows. I've cried in the middle of stores, in the shower, at your gravesite, in the car, and many more places. The littlest things seem to have the biggest impact. For example, this weekend at the park, there was a mom calling her toddler, and his name was Milo. That was not something my heart was ready to hear. Or when I decided to have my first beverage with alcohol in it, and I started crying because I should still be pregnant or pumping and not able to have it. Or watching the fireworks with your brother and sister, and realizing that you would never get to do that, then wondering, could you hear? Then the heartbreak of realizing, I didn't really "know" my baby. I never changed a diaper, never fed you, and didn't get nearly enough time with you. That last part hurts the most. 

Ryleigh is trying to process how she can. It comes in little spurts. Today was probably the most gut-wrenching. We took her to see your spot at the cemetery, because she was trying to conceptualize that your hole was filled in, but wasn't really understanding. As we were driving away, she starting crying out, "Miloooooo, Milooooooo. I want Milo. I love Milo." I'm so grateful that Josh can be so stoic in these moments, because I silently started crying in the front seat. He grabbed my hand, and talked Ryleigh through it, reminding her we all miss and love you, Milo. 

I'm also looking for the signs that you're around. When I hear the wind chimes, I think of you. The other night, while outside at the fire, I saw a single firefly in the yard, and between my dad and I, we've owned the house for the past 13 years and I've NEVER seen a firefly. So I know that was a little 'hello.' Keep sending those signs, sweet boy. Momma loves to know you're near. 

We continue to talk about you, and will continue to talk about you. It helps all of us feel connected, and your story is always worth sharing. Thank you for being our little miracle. We are so grateful you chose us to be your parents. 

A huge thank you to our village, as always. Navigating this heartbreak has not been an easy feat. I thought with our knowing this was a potential outcome, that it would be easier, but nothing truly prepares you for this heartbreak. We are so grateful for the visits, meals, cards, messages. You're giving us all the things we need to continue moving forward, and we appreciate it more than you know.