When I was almost eight months pregnant, my mother and I went on a shopping spree for Ember. One of the many things we bought was her baby book. It took awhile to pick one, there where bright ones, animal covered ones, retro ones.... But we decided on the most perfect one. It's pale pink and looked classic to me. I'd started keeping little notes for her book months earlier, and kept doing it so that after she was born, I could fill in a good chunk of it at once.
It was only a few days after her birth and death that I went through this book to take out the pages for birthdays, newborn check-ups, all the pages Ember would never fill. Thank god we'd chosen a binder style book that let me do this without ripping them out because at the time I probably would have shredded it. Then I started trying to fill in those pages we'd had her with us long enough to make the memories for. Pregnancy, labor, birth... The beginning of the book.
Fast forward seven months. Not even half of the pages left are completely filled in, and only a couple of the pictures I want to put in are there. I've sat down with it and the notes, the journal I kept for her, the pictures, over a dozen times. Just couldn't ever make myself complete it. It gave me so much guilt and kept me up many nights wondering why I couldn't do it.
The reason I've been procrastinating seems obvious now that it's smacked me in the face.
Once I complete Ember’s baby book… it will be finished. Once I write the final line about her birth, it’s over. Closing the book on my child’s life.