by lani

there is a term in the baby loss community that I love.

rainbow baby.

isn’t it beautiful? i never say it out loud; i whisper, reverent. rainbow baby.

rainbow baby is the next one.
rainbow baby is the flickering candle in darkness, the wavering mirage, the misty purple mountain, the cry in the supermarket.
rainbow baby is the genesis promise of life, the resurrection of a dream, the beauty when chaos rains, the proof of a sun.
rainbow baby is the trembling light of hope refracted through tears of grief.

whisper it, rainbow baby. they are words of courage.

some say a baby isn’t all that. a baby is long nights no sex weird smells sore nipples and sacrifice but it’s worth it in the end.

i say no. a baby is a rainbow.

they say you don’t know what it’s like. they say wait until you’re a mother and you’ll see. they say you’ll be tired, you’ll want a break. they say you have no idea.

i say watch me. watch me make my rainbow. watch me conquer the choking clouds of fear to live at peace with my rainbow. watch me bring forth my rainbow in pain and joy. and watch me thank God and hope and heaven every morning for my rainbow, made more precious by the tears of pain in which it is conceived. i may have no idea what it is like to live with a baby, but i know what is like to die with a baby. and one whose motherhood has died with her baby may not know the trials of living with a baby … but i know without a doubt that i will embrace the rain with my rainbow.

during my pregnancy with sky i bought the yarn to make this blanket. it has been my project since he died, healing and connecting me to him, and i only recently realized … it’s a rainbow.

rainbow crochet baby blanket

i may save it for when we have another child, or i may give it away to one of my many pregnant friends. i don’t know. i don’t need to know that now because, thank God, there will always be rainbows.