Irish

I'm very low right now. Low energy. Low mood. Just sad. And unsettled.

E's due date is next week. Have I already said that about 100 times in previous posts? When I first discovered I was pregnant with E, I calculated her due date as St. Patrick's Day. I thought that date was fitting because we're Irish, albeit Americanized Irish who know little to nothing about Ireland. We're claiming the heritage anyway, dammit.

I didn't necessarily think E would arrive on St. Patrick's Day. I figured she'd arrive anytime from the end of February until mid-March because my second born, O, arrived two and a half weeks early. Thus, I've been edgier than normal these days -- if that's even possible.

We didn't have names picked out when we discovered E had died. During the four days leading up to E's induction, I remember feeling the need to give this baby the best name I could imagine, not just one I liked. We crafted names for a boy and names for a girl that both my husband and I thought were exceptionally beautiful. I'm grateful that despite our grief and fear, we realized that this baby deserved the same respect and thoughtfulness we gave to our other children.

Perhaps one day I'll feel confident the "real world" will never discover my blog. Then, I will broadcast E's name for all the world to hear. Until then, you'll have to trust me -- our Irish ancestors would be proud.