How It Feels to Hold Your Rainbow Baby

​It was an ordinary day. There was nothing special planned; nor was it a holiday or a special occasion. There were plenty of chores around the house that needed to be done.  Laundry needed to be folded. The dishes in the sink needed to be washed. You were fighting a nap, that I knew was much needed, and I didn’t know why. I was frustrated at first, that you wouldn't fall asleep, because I had planned on catching up on some of those household chores while you napped. 

It became clear that you weren’t going to fall asleep, so I came to your room to get you out of your crib. I felt frustrated, unsure why you were refusing to sleep. After all, this was part of your daily routine. 

I carried you to the living room and sat in the chair facing the large window. You sat quietly, in my arms, without fighting to put down on the floor. You just wanted to be held. It reminded me of when you were a newborn; just a year ago. As I held you, your body became more relaxed and your breathing became deeper. I knew you were falling asleep. I looked down at your face and sure enough, you had fallen asleep in my arms. 

That’s when it hit me.

A tear came down my face. 

I remembered how we got here. 

I remembered the positive pregnancy tests (all three of them) and the two pregnancies that were lost. I remembered the tears that I cried after those losses. I remembered how sad I was for months after the loss. I was unsure if I would ever happily smile or laugh again.  I remembered seeing the world, no longer in color, but in shades of grey. I remembered wearing sunglasses in hospital hallways, trying to hide the tears streaming down my face. I remembered putting away baby clothes that I had bought for someone that would come someday; yet that someday seemed to get further and further away. 

I remembered wondering if the room that I had painted green would ever become a nursery. I remembered sobbing in the shower, or in my car on way to work. I would cry whenever I was alone and no one could see my hidden grief. I remembered trying to put on a brave face at numerous social events, acting as if I was okay, even when I wasn’t. 

I remembered the third positive pregnancy test and how it felt different that time. I remembered crying tears of fear and feeling thankful at the same time. I remembered going to every doctor’s appointment, anxiously awaiting to hear about your progress. I remembered counting up the weeks, hoping I could carry this high risk pregnancy for as long as my body would allow me. 

I remembered being told that I was being sent to labor and delivery, because my body had been pushed as far as it could go with the pregnancy. Several hours later I met you, but it felt like I had always known you when they placed you in my arms. 

And on that day, I felt that way again, as I watched you, sleeping in my arms. Time seemed to stand still again as I watched the snow swirling outside and listened to you breathe. That day was anything but ordinary. You will always be who was at the end of my rainbow. Nothing else will ever be more important than holding you in my arms