I wanted a girl. I wanted a sister, here, for E.

I feel jealous when I see photos of my friends’ two daughters together, or when I hear of another mother who is expecting a baby girl. I wanted a girl.

This new baby is a boy. I knew he would be. I have had several dreams about a boy baby, my boy baby. A son. A bright-eyed, chubby-cheeked boy.

I thought I would be disappointed when the ultrasound confirmed it. I cried, but I was crying already, crying from the moment I entered the hospital. I wasn’t disappointed. I felt light. A new baby. This baby – this boy baby – is a new baby. He is not Baby Sister. He is his own person. He has his own story. And maybe his story will be different. Maybe his story will have a happier ending. A big maybe. And a possibility.

My little gone girl was so present in that ultrasound room. R and I holding hands and remembering the last time we sat together in front of an ultrasound, her 20-week ultrasound, and the joy we felt at learning she was a sister for E, our Baby Sister. The tears that I could not stop from streaming down my cheeks were all for her, for what she is missing, for missing her as this new baby claims his space in our lives and hearts.

Baby Sister. Baby Brother. A life full of surprises: shock, grief, joy and all of these mixed together.

A boy. My boy.

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