Ever since giving birth to G, I have had a noticeable tightness in my right leg, sometimes even a pain that runs the length of the inside of my leg. When I was first walking again I could not slip shoes on or off without using my hands to do so, the pain on that side of my vagina was too intense. Perhaps it is just a coincidence but this is also the side of my body that the epidural did not work on. I sometimes think of it as one of the small things I have left of them, my sweet babies.
We are moving across the country in less than a month. R has a new job and it is very exciting I'll (hopefully) get a few months off with C and then also find work. We are frantic with logistics including getting our house on the market by this Sunday and with C who chose this weekend to have an amazing developmental leap and sleep significantly less in the day. The job is great, the area is near where I attended undergrad and we are excited to be there.
And yet, as I pack I find myself sometimes covered in a blanket of grief. The door that I stood beside when I called R to tell her I was pregnant, the space on the sofa where I sat for a full day when we felt confident enough in our babies safety to order cribs and register, the bed I lay in when my water broke to soon, the place where I laid after losing S when I came home for two days still carrying G - where I felt him move like a gymnast, where R and my sister and I laid in a jumble and passed out the day after my month in the hospital was over and our babies were really and forever gone. These places will soon be gone too. And that will be one less thing, one less sharing between me and my missing babies.