Betrothed

Meet Cooper.

Warning: Do not stare directly at the picture.  The cuteness of the baby and the bling of the ginormous diamond may burn your retinas.  And melt your heart.  And make you miss your baby.  And make you want a new diamond. My birthday is in May.

Cooper was born on April 5.  He weighed 9 pounds 2 ounces. Nine pounds of solid adorable-ness.  He was supposed to fall in love with Maggie in a few years.  I was never concerned about him not being able to love her. It's easy to love Maggie.  I've done it everyday since October.  Actually, even before October. 

I went and visited him today in the hospital.  I'll admit it, I was a bit scared.  I did not know how I would react and what it would be like to see him and hold him.  But, in the scheme of things, I knew that I wanted to see him.  Under any other circumstances I would have visited him.  And, at some point, I decided, I was going to have to see babies and hold them.  So, I decided that if I was going to hold a baby and cry, I would want to do it with Cooper.  I've cried in front of Cooper's mom quite a few times.  If I was going to cry in front of anyone while holding their child, I knew that Cooper's parents would be understanding and patient and supportive. They wouldn't think I was a crazy-hormone-grief-stricken-baby-snatching-woman. In fact, I knew that his mommy would cry with me.  You see, I know Cooper's mom's heart is filled with joy and happiness and love and peace and thankfulness. But, I also know that she feels sorrow and sadness about Maggie and the loss that Dave and I have experienced.

So, I went.  I got to meet Cooper and hug his beautiful mama.  And, Cooper was perfect. I think he must have known that he was meeting his what-could-have-been-his-future-mother-in-law because he was so well-mannered. Plus,  he was chubby, had cute little fingers, and made cute little squeaky sounds.  And, when I left, I smelled like baby.  Even as I am typing this, I get little whiffs of good-smelling baby.

That's what I wanted from visiting him.  I wanted to see chubby cheeks and curled-up legs and hear little squeaks.  I wanted to be reassured that this miracle, this unbelievably perfect baby can happen, and hopefully will happen.  It is possible to have a perfect child of God laying on your lap.   Alive.  And breathing.  And squeaking. And stretching.   It doesn't always happen the way it happened to Dave and me.  It isn't always sorrow and fear and questions. This is the way it is supposed to be. Visiting Cooper gave me some hope.

Don't get me wrong- seeing Cooper didn't help me "get over" Maggie.  It didn't help me forget her or whatever I'm supposed to do with time.  It probably made me miss her even more.  And remember every inch of her.  And be reminded that I will never hear her squeaks or touch her soft earlobes or see her prune-like little toes.  I definitely keep asking God why this happened to us and why we couldn't be as lucky. But, seeing Cooper did help me be reminded of why I started this adventure in the first place and that I can get through this if it means that, in the end, it means having a Cooper of my own.    

By the way, it probably would have never worked out between Cooper and Mag-dawg anyways.  They would have looked ridiculous together, I mean with his 9 pounds of solid boy and her dainty little, petite figure.  But, I would we could have at least tried it out and given them a shot.  The option would have been nice.