My distant star,
I held my belly today and forgot for a while that my womb was empty. I planned to practice the piano and get my singing voice back so that I could sing you lullaby’s, to help you sleep. My deodorant smelled like baby powder, and I instantly thought about all those bath times that I would no longer get with you. The splashing in the tub, the messes, and also soaking my nose into the smell of you.
A baby.
A beautiful new baby.
Everything I look at feels different now. The joy I felt, the hope, the plans, the excitement of having you in my arms and you wrapping your little finger around mine feels like a passing afterthought. One moment, we were together in hopes for the future, and it so quickly vanished. I had plans to go to the zoo with you. I started thinking up names for who you’d be, and every time I saw an owl, I thought about your nursery. In a few weeks, we were supposed to see you on the ultrasound. I even put a giant heart on my calendar not to mistake it for any other day.
Your daddy would kiss my belly every day and whisper his sweet hello’s to you. Your siblings dreamed of who would hold you after school first. You were so loved in such a short time. I’ve been still playing the piano every day, and I think of you and how you would’ve sat in your baby chair next to me. It’s an empty space, but I’m still making that promise to you. I will get my singing voice back and play lullabies, and every time I do, I’ll think of you, and for the time we had together. I’ve been playing “Winter Song” by Sara Bareilles, and two lines say what I feel deeply right now. “They say we’re buried far, just like a distant star I simply cannot hold. Cause you’re not where you belong, inside my arms.”
Mommy loves you, my distant star.
