I guess all those memories are flooding back. They are compounded by the unavoidable reminders of what could of been. That viral video going around with the twin boys talking to each other or doing karate (I haven't watched it, I'm just going by comments) is one example. Another are the friends who have twins that are experiencing everything there is to go with having twins. It just breaks my heart. For Micah. For me. For what should have been.
I really wish this was easy to move on from. I'm not walking around in self pitty all the time. But I still hurt. I can't help but look at Micah and see double. For that I will always be grateful, that they were identical, because then at the very least I can try to imagine just what Jeremiah would have looked like during his life here on earth.
And that leads me to my least favorite question, the one I've begun to hate. "How old is he?" I hear that everywhere we go. I always sigh, and say something along the lines of it being a complicated answer. He's 5 months but he should *almost* be 3 months. Most people don't understand even after I have told them that just because he was born then and is now 5 months does not mean that he should automatically be the size of an average 5 month old nor should he be developmentally like one. It means he should have been developing into a newborn for the first 10 weeks of his life, and the it all grows from there. And of course the worst part of the question is that it reminds me all over again about my story...his story---their story.
I wish I could kiss my Jeremiah's chubby little baby cheeks right now. I'm glad he's in a better place though.
Micah & Jeremiah holding hands