Not for the faint of heart

Life is.... So much different than I thought it would be. I don't remember taking any classes in school that taught me how much it hurts when your heart breaks, that babies die, or that even when you're trying to do right things still can and do go absolutely wrong. I don't remember a class that taught me what to do in times of crisis and tragedy, or a class that gave insight on what to do when you feel like giving up. 
Sometimes I find myself feeling bitter about this, among a long list of other things. Like maybe, just maybe, if someone would have taught me, or at least warned me, I wouldn't be making my way through life as a bereaved and broken hearted mother. Maybe this wouldn't be my story.  
The part of me that lives in reality, the part of me that watches and learns and figures things out on my own knows that's not true, but it is hard not to be bitter. It is hard to calm the fire in my heart that just wants to scream that it's so unfair that there's no do overs in life. 
Since finding out I am expecting again I've been thinking a lot about that. This baby is not a do over. This baby will not, and could not, ever replace Boston. However, it would be a lie to say the mind doesn't wander to strange places...
At my first ultrasound I was so eager to see this little new life, but I kept finding my mind going to some twisted fairy tale like place and wanting it to be Boston. I want to do Boston all over again. 
I want to go back to that place where my love for my children was still innocent and blindly hopeful.. When my heart didn't always hurt and ignorance was still bliss. I want to go back to the time when I didn't know that babies die or how hard it is to focus on the good in things after figuring out that they do...that babies can die. My baby did. 
It is hard not to think of that while once again preparing to love another child. What if I go to my next doctor appointment and something is wrong? To think of ever having to feel the awful sick to my stomach, raging, relentless pain that I felt when a nurse turned to tell me the worst on the day that Boston died has me scared out of my mind. I don't want to be scared, but I am. 
Fear follows me every where I go and I'm realizing that I'm once again learning something no one ever taught me... How to not let fear rob me of my joy.

My darling little fatboy,
I wonder if you see how much I cry these days. Some of them tears of joy, some of them tears of pain. Even though I cannot see you, please be here with me. I still need you. 
All my love,
Mommy