Matthew is now 24 weeks old exactly. Obviously I know this because I've been a panicked wreck waiting to get to this moment, this one day--precisely one day older than his brother ever lived.
It struck me as funny today that while born first, Carpenter would always be the "younger brother." But that's a thought for another night.
I have been sweating getting through Hell Week, enduring constant reminders of where I was at this exact gestational age with Carpenter. Maybe it was the day I fell. Maybe the day I delivered his still body. It was all horrible. But as we see all too often in this babyloss journey, time marches on. And with each passing day, I couldn't decide if that was a good thing.
Yesterday was 23/6. The exact age at which we delivered our sweet boy straight to Heaven.
And I know he was watching over us yesterday.
This might sound odd to some people, but I know my son talks to his siblings. I know this. I've seen it in action. And yesterday, the message was received. Sweet Carpenter sent word to his brother that this, of all days, would be one of the hardest in this whole pregnancy for their mommy. He told his brother to keep me calm and happy as best he could. And that sweet Matthew wiggled his little butt until I was satisfied.
Of course, my boys always go just one step above and beyond.
Matthew introduced himself to his father last night. At 23 weeks, 6 days old, Matt finally kicked so hard that Mike felt him move, multiple times.
What a gorgeous way to end such a terrifying week.
And this morning, the first day of Week 24, I got to hear his heartbeat.
If I get nothing else in the world, I got one more day with this son. And today, I can see that as the true blessing it is.
It's a good week.