Well Hello World

Okay, it's been ages.

Updates...not pregnant (I still do not have the courage to try again...yet. Maybe. One day. Sooner rather than later).

So I moved back home after being almost 1,000 miles away for almost a year.

I returned to work (same profession new location).

A beautiful miracle baby joined our family (husband's cousin) who has given me the audacity to hope and believe.

I started seeing a therapist to deal specifically with my medical post traumatic stress disorder.

I am more physically active and have lost 30lbs to date (I am now a size 4).

If I had a baby to hold in my arms, love, cuddle, and nurse with my husband at my side, I would be happy beyond measure.

Instead, I am working at a job that is thankless and stressful (regardless of my salary increase) while pretending that I am not depressed and sad longing for two babies that will not come back to me in the physical sense.

I wish I had something grand to share after all this time, but I don't so I can't.

Fantasies

Sometimes I fantasize about appearing on the show, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant...what a wonderful world that would be.

Happy No More

Will I ever be truly happy again?

I've had plenty of reasons to celebrate lately, and celebrate I did. I've enjoyed countless festivities that included birthdays, graduations, parties, festivals,etc. Under the old normal circumstances, these past two months would have been blissful. Under the new normal, I am left wondering will I ever be truly happy again. Happy for long stretches of time. Happy without thinking about it. Happy without trying to be. Happy on the inside. Happy for other people. Happy to hear that someone else is having a baby regardless if I feel they do or don't deserve to.

I hope I can find true happiness again someday SOON because I don't know what kind of life it would be to have this internal and eternal feeling of melancholy.

Someone's Going To Lotto...Might As Well Be You

It's going to be somebody. Why not me? I feel like I have been on the wrong side of statistics too many times. Second trimester loss? Me. Incompetent cerivix? Miscarriage first trimesteer? Me. Hemorrage? Me. Blood transfusion? Me. Infection? Me. Depression? Me. Post traumatic stess disorder? Me. Why not me for everything else. I want a baby. I want a baby to kick, live, and exist inside of me for the whole duration of a normal pregnancy for 40 weekss...and come out breathing, crying, kicking, and nursing.

But. I am so scared. I feel like evey risk of childbirth is a personal risk that I have to surpass. I want a baby, but I don't want to risk my life again to only come out a dead baby mama.

Seven

So today I should either:

A) Have a seven month old baby boy to hold, cuddle, love, kiss, nurse, tickle, teach, etc.

or

B) Be seven months pregnant with my second child.

I have neither and still managed to get through the day.

Earlier today I was having a really tough time. I didn't realize why. Now I know when I sit down, do the math, and recognize the significance of today.

I know I am strong. I know I will survive...

And that's that.

Angelversaries, March of Dimes, and Mother's Day

Back to back days and reminders of what I came close to having...and then had taken away.

1st Angelversary: The anticipation of the day was much more difficult and sad than the actual day itself.

March of Dimes: Volunteered to work the registration booth. I felt like I needed to do something or be a part of the event in some way. Seeing all those babies and families together actually made me feel good. I imagined that most of the families there were there because they too have had some experience where they either loss a baby/babies or almost did. It made me feel good to see that so many families came out on the other side of it with babies to hold and love on the outside world.

Mother's Day: I did not anticipate feeling any particular way on Mother's Day. For most of the day, I tried to ignore the fact that it was indeed Mother's Day. When I woke up that morning, I actually thought it was Monday (clearly my subconscious mind did not want to acknowledge this day). I went for a walk, did some cleaning, watched movies. And then it hit me when the day was almost over. I overheard a phone conversation in which my husband wished his mother, aunts, and grandmother all a happy mother's day. And then the water works began.

Almost made it.

"I Guess I'll See You Next Lifetime"

After almost a year and two baby losses I have come to realize (for tonight...maybe just tonight) that some things are just scientific, random, biological laws of nature...otherwise known as the other side of statistics that someone has to be on. As much as it hurts us like crazy and makes us question everything we have ever known and believed in, the truth is it just so happen to be us. That's it. Nothing special about it. No reason that we were selected for this fate other than the fact that it had to be somebody. We are the somebodies!!!

Next step is up to us. How do we choose to view this? How do we choose to move on? For me, I like to think that my babies needed a special, sacred, loving, and nurturing space for just a limited time. I like to think that they instinctively knew that only I could provide the space where they could feel pure love, peace, joy, and at home. I'm so special that they chose to come to me.

Sometimes I think and believe that now just wasn't the time for us to be together here on earth..."Now what I'm I supposed to do when I want you in my world?" As much as it may pain me in the here and now, I'd like to think that I will see and be with them next lifetime. Maybe we'll be butterflies together at the same time. I'll just have to wait a little while.

For days that I choose to look at this scientifically and statiscally...the numbers just add up. One in five pregnancies end in baby losses. I am the one in five. Twice. That's it. My losses have no theme. They are not related. They are completely random situations that could have happened to any two different women. Instead, they happened to me. Lightening struck twice. If this was the megamillion lottery, I would be beyond happy.

But it's not. So I just cope instead.

How do you view your losses? What helps you to make it through the heartache?

The Surreal Life

Everyday is a struggle. It's an act. They should give academy awards to mothers who have lost babies. Every day we pretend to be happy. Every day we pretend to be positive. Every day we pretend that we get the big picture. That we have restored faith. That we have found the secret of life...again...and again. Sometimes we pretend for other people, but once we get beyond that we are really just pretending for ourselves. We pretend that things really are getting better just so that we can get up and out the bed each morning. We pretend to care about what's going on around us.

When I go through the motions I don't really feel like I'm pretending and putting on an act, it's only when I step back and take some time to reflect that I realize that I'm not FEELING any happy or positive feelings. It's like I'm a fraud without meaning to be one. I want to feel these positive emotions, but I just don't. Instead all I really mostly feel is angry and helpless. Bitter and angry. Oh, and did I say ANGRY?

I use to look at babies and smile without thinking. It was just an innate response. Now I look at every baby that even remotely looks like my own baby would have and I think to myself, "why? why my baby? how come you aren't my baby? don't my husband deserve to be tossing you in the air and playing with you just as much as the next man?"

Tonight I just want to cry. I just want to scream. I just want to shout. The odd thing is nothing happened tonight. I went out with hubby and had a nice evening. I didn't see not one baby toight. I didn't hear not one cry. But somehow I still manage to stay up at night wishing and hoping that I had a baby to rock, nurse, and hold. It feels like there's a knife twising in my heart and my stomach.

I feel like a failure. Like I failed at something that I preapared and studied really hard for. I feel like someone else got the lifetime scholarship to the ivy league school and all the perks that come along with it that I deserve.

It takes everything in my power to take the next breath when I know someone else is enjoying a life that I should be enjoying too.

I should wear a t-shirt saying, "I got pregnant and all I got was empty jiggly mommy arms and belly fat that won't go away."

Read My Lips, "No more baby talk!"

This is a world that is just our own. A world that no one can enter or even begin to understand if they haven't crossed the threshold of living babies to dead babies. Time after time I am reminded by those who are/were closest to me how much they not only don't understand, but how much they still attach certain expectations to me. Sometimes I wonder what's preventing them from at least getting a clue when I spell things out to them. What part of "I can't take anything baby or pregnancy related" can't they understand? Do they really think I want to hear about the neighbor and her six month old baby boy? Do they really think I want to see pictures of their new baby? Do they really think I can stomach to hear about when they first brought their new baby home from the hospital? Why oh why do they think my grief, pain, and suffering has ended so soon after TWO baby losses just last year? I don't know, maybe next time I should just ask them when they expect too much of me, "do you really think I give a fuck?"

What Does It Take To Move On?

Just when you think you are moving on something happens to make you realize that you're not. I've been away for awhile. I had to travel back home. I was gone for almost the entire month of March. While there I almost felt like the woman formerly known as myself. I spent quality time with family. I hung out with friends. I went to a few parties. When it was time to return, I didn't want to leave my childhood home. There I finally had something to do to occupy my time, my mind, my thoughts, and my heart. It was the first time in almost a year that my whole entire day wasn't consumed with the troubles and pressures of being a babyless mother.

After being back from home for almost a week and still on this "high" from my trip, I started to think that maybe I was all better- finally.

And then last night I had this dream of someone very close to me and her new baby. In my dream, I was with her and I met the baby for the first time. All I wanted to do was scream, cry, and shout how unfair it all was and how much pain I felt that I was missing what she had. But I said nothing. I looked at the baby. I touched the baby. I talked and cooed and "googoo gagaed" at the baby, but I couldn't bring myself to take the baby in my arms and just hold it. I said nothing to my friend about how much I was hurting.

When I woke up, I just felt angry. I felt screwed. I felt that same old familiar pang in my heart and at the pit of my stomach that I thought I had finally gotten over.

This dream left me wondering if this feeling I have will ever stop being so raw. It made me be honest with myself that I really do still want a baby even though I try to pretend to myself that I don't want to try again. So now I feel like I'm right back where I left off a month ago.

A scared, lonely, hurt, and angry babyless mother.

I'd really like to know from other babyless mothers just how and when did you know you had moved on past the raw emotions and had settled into your "new normal" self. How long did it take? What did it take for it to finally happen?

And you get a baby, and you get a baby, and...oh...no baby for you.

At times I have this overwhelming feeling of "unfairness." The world is unfair. It is unfair that people who are clearly unfit to be parents get the opportunities to be parents. It is unfair that people who don't even plan pregnancies get knocked up and go on to have live healthy babies. It is unfair that women who know absolutely nothing about caring for a baby, nurturing a baby, and educating a child go on to have uneventful smooth pregnancies. It is unfair. Period. Nothing else to say about it. But what do we do? What can we do? Nothing. It sucks and it hurts, but we have no choice in any of it.

During my first pregnancy I did everything right and then everything right on top of that. I ate vegetarian except for two servings of fish twice a week for the omega 3s. I stayed away from junk food. I used all natural non toxic cleaning products. I drank plenty of water. Took my vitamins. Went to all prenatal appointments and called several times in between them. I cherished every bout of morning sickness I had because it told me that my baby was growing and developing. I never complained about anything. I talked to my baby with words of love everyday. And then at 16 weeks, shortly after waiting for the right time after the first trimester to announce that I was expecting, I lost the baby. Me, who planned a natural medication free childbirth with the loving support of a doula and midwife. Me, who had this awesome great respect for the miracle of life. Months later during my deepest depression I almost couldn't bear to face the world because all I saw were pregnant women, newborns, and mothers who I knew didn't deserve their babies any more than I deserved mine.

After experiencing a second loss, I know more than ever that life is not always fair. I'm struggling to find a way to live in a world where such unfairness exists. The only thing that helps me at times is the knowledge that it was nothing I did, nothing I deserved, and that sometimes bad things just happen to good people.

Even still, the pain is deep and it is real. As much as it is like a knife in the pit of my stomach, I have no choice but to deal with the cruel reality that other people who are clearly not even close to as worthy as me go on to have babies...the alcoholics, the weed smokers, the loose promiscuous women, the dropouts, the unintelligent, the financially irresponsible, the unmotivated, the you fill in the blank, all seem to get knocked up without plans, give birth without complications, and then go on to screw up some perfectly innocent person's childhood life. Meanwhile, some worthy babyless parents weep with arms wide open and no baby to place in them.

What Do People Expect?

I guess people expect us to forget we ever had babies. Forget that we are mothers. And act as if their babies and children are the only ones who count and should matter. I guess people think we should gather up the desire, strength, and the courage (that just isn't there) enough to carry on as if things are "back to normal." I guess people think we should be "big enough" people to be happy for them when all goes well despite the fact that we're lonely, confused, scared, and angry as hell. It is so interesting that after all we as mothers without babies have to endure, we're still expected to live up to the expectations of friends and families whose lives have gone untouched by the way ours have changed forever. I hate it when people expect these things and then think we should expect nothing in return.

I Wonder If...

I wonder if people will ever realize that when you have a pregnancy loss, you lose a BABY. You don't just lose blood, tissue, and other "products of conception." But you lose a child. A child that you love, a child that you carried, a child that you had every hope and dream in the world for. Gone just like that. Nothing you did. Nothing you could do about it.

It's amazing how little time some people are willing to give you to "get over the loss." A few weeks (as in 2-3) or a couple of months at best is often all you'll get from friends, family, and a few well meaning people. And then magically you are expected to return to normal. Have the same carefree funny conversations. Gush and fawn over newborn babies. Smile at pregnant women. Talk about the future with the same type of energy and hope. Like you could just freaking bounce back to the person you once were before just like that because society expects you to and it makes them uncomfortable if you don't.

You can learn a lot about people and your relationships with them by how they choose to react and respond during your grief. Like who is really there for you always, who is there for you for just short period of time, who is there for you as long as it doesn't interfere with what they have going on, and who isn't there for you at all. Sometimes these are hard lessons to learn.

I wonder will people ever be able to realize that it hurts to have your child ignored, it hurts to have your grief go unacknowledged, it hurts like hell to have people act as if you went to the hospital to have your spleen removed instead of having every fragment of your baby and all that held you two together suctioned and scraped from what was once a sacred nurturing space.

I don't expect people who have not gone through this to get it. I really don't. But it's hard to grasp that people don't expect you to grieve.

I wonder what it would take for others to realize that losing a baby means you literally lose a part of yourself. The part that you loved the most. It means losing the most important part of your future.

Babyless Mama Drama

This blog is my attempt to heal through writing.

After having two miscarriages last year, I am trying to decide just what that means in terms of motherhood. When people ask me do I have children, how should I answer? Am I a mother or what? So far, it seems that larger society seems to think and treat me as if I'm not. To be very honest, I don't really feel like a mother. A part of me feels like I shouldn't because there are no babies to show for it. But on a deeper level at the core of my heart, I realize that I still want the recognition as mother. Haven't I earned it? Is having two living babies the only way to validate my motherhood? Is that right? Is that even fair? It seems like it's unjust for me to not only lose my babies, but to lose the title of mother seems to just add salt to an already open sore WOMB.

So what do you think? Are mothers without babies really even mothers at all? How should us babyless mothers be treated? Should we expect a gift or card on mother's day? Or should we pretend that we're the same women we were before we loved and lost our babies?