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.