That Summer

T and I had dinner with our old neighbors Andy and Tracy last night. We had a really nice time, and it was unbelievable to see how big their daughter Charlie had gotten in the 4 months since we had last seen them. She went from baby to big girl seemingly overnight - walking and trying to talk, flirting with T and showing off her new house to both of us.

Tracy and I were both pregnant that first summer, when T and I had just moved to the neighborhood. I lost our baby, and sometimes it was hard to see Tracy get bigger and bigger- and later to see Charlie in all of her baby ness without remembering what we were missing. Andy and Tracy were beautifully sensitive to this- and I know that they are genuinely thrilled about our current good news.

We spent a lot of time last night talking about parenting and pregnancy, and I couldn’t help but feel that it was like a dam bursting. There were probably so many things that Tracy would have shared back then had it not been for my miscarriage. It was really good for me, for all of us to talk about them now. I will never forget the baby I lost- but I can think back on that summer now without sad tears, and I’m so grateful for it. I feel free to marvel at Charlie’s cuteness and wit, without measuring it against any kind of grief. It makes me proud; proud of me, proud of my marriage, proud of my family and friends. We all healed each other.

This all may sound a little maudlin, so more to come later on the ill effects of Barry Manilow and excessive amounts of show tunes to babies in utero. I wouldn't want to make my brother Matt cry with too much of this sad, sappy stuff- he cries pretty easily, you know.