Dear Ellie,
I could never feel you kick when your mother was still pregnant. I tried, over and over again. One time, the OBGYN checked for a heartbeat for a just a brief moment and he said, "Oh! Was that a kick?" I grinned and pretended that I wasn't jealous. It was frustrating, but I didn't really mind. In the third trimester, I was sure I'd have plenty more opportunities to feel you kick. But that wasn't true. There was only one time I ever felt you kick.
I could never feel you kick when your mother was still pregnant. I tried, over and over again. One time, the OBGYN checked for a heartbeat for a just a brief moment and he said, "Oh! Was that a kick?" I grinned and pretended that I wasn't jealous. It was frustrating, but I didn't really mind. In the third trimester, I was sure I'd have plenty more opportunities to feel you kick. But that wasn't true. There was only one time I ever felt you kick.
It was the night before you were born. Your
mother was bleeding in the hospital bed. We knew you were coming and we knew you might not make it. While I held her, I felt a tiny little
twitch. Like someone flicking my hand. Nothing has ever been more
bittersweet. I wondered to myself:
"Is this the only time I'll feel your little flutters of life?"
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