Just when I begin to fret that Robbie's not moving, not growing, not thriving... I'll lay as still as I can and put my hand on my belly. I breathe deep. From the diaphraghm like we always learned in music class and choral singing. I breathe deep and full, letting the oxygen fill every available bit of my lungs. I empty my mind and let go of all those fears. And then he kicks. I feel him moving, stretching, growing. I feel him letting me know that it's okay right now. Today, at least, I don't have to worry about it.

I'm going to enjoy today. Savor these moments and treasure every kick I feel. Right now I can keep him safe. Right now I can hold him close in my heart and soul. Later I'll hold him in my arms, for now I'll hold him closer than that. Maybe I can't hear him cry now. I don't even know if babies cry in the womb. I suspect not. When he's born and settled into that isolette, or warming crib (let's think positively that he'll just be a feeder/grower and not in the level 3), the first week or so he won't cry either. Tiffany couldn't cry for at least two weeks. Soundless crying is horrible to watch in your babies.

That wasn't very comforting, was it? Let me just leave you with the first paragraph then. Let me worry about the second- but forgive me for letting it remain here. I need to remember these things. As self-injuring as it seems, I need that pain in my mind to stay saner this week. To remember that this is going to be just the beginning of a long ride that will make me cry oftener than it will make me laugh. One day the laughter will outweigh the tears again and I'll let go of it all. Salt makes the sugar taste sweeter.