I remember reading in Veronika's book The Drinks Are On Me, about her mother nursing after the death of her sibling and being able to taste the grief in her mother's milk. The idea haunted me, and when I was donating my breast milk after Florence died I hoped the babies it went on to feed couldn't taste my grief, but just my love for Florence and my hope that my milk (her milk) would bring those babies the strength it could never bring to Florence.
Last night I was lying in bed watching my tummy, watching baby boy wriggle and kick about, and I wondered, can he taste my sadness in the amniotic fluid? Does he feel the pain in my heart? That pain and memories must be in every cell of my body, and therefore in him?
I guess if he can sense or taste my sadness he can also taste my hope and love for him?
I simply can not reconcile my love and pain for the loss of Florence with my love and hope for baby boy.
Is it possible? I know I will always love all of my children, and Florence is no exception. Baby boy is not a replacement child, he's our child, another child for us to love and care for.
This balancing act of grief, and hope is tortuous.