Archive for May, 2009

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Three Weeks post-miscarriage

May 4, 2009

Dear Baby,

You left this world three weeks ago. I only knew you for two months but now it feels like you were with me forever. I wish you could know how much I loved you. I didn’t know if you were a girl or a boy. It didn’t really matter. You were mine. A combination of your daddy and I. I would find myself daydreaming while you grew inside me. I knew your hair would be dark and filled with curls like both your father and I, but I wondered: Would you have your father’s lovely lashes that curl at the end? I dreamed of the day I would hold you against my chest, your soft baby skin against mine, the ultimate connection a mother has to her child. I dreamed of kissing your downy hair, and fretted so soon about how I would clip your tender nails. Your daddy, he was so excited he found a deal on diapers and almost bought a pack of 100. Your grandma? She already spoke to you. She patted my belly where you hid and she told you she couldn’t wait to see you. She was going to buy your crib, and your bassinet. Your uncles defend you against names they feared you might get teased for. Oh, my baby, I tried for so long to see you, when I found out you were coming you were all I could think about. I would lose myself in meetings daydreaming about your smile. I read every pregnancy book imaginable. I kissed your sonogram picture, you curled up floating in my womb. I closed my eyes to remember your heart beat, so strong.  I have to move forward now, baby. I have to accept that we won’t ever really get to know each other as I wanted to.  There will be days I will smile. There will be days that I will not be consumed by the pain of losing you, but baby, don’t you ever for a minute think I can ever forget you. You were a part of me, when you left, you took a part of me with you. There may be other babies in my life, dear baby. These other babies, I may one day hold as I wanted to hold you and kiss as I so badly wanted to kiss you. But baby, you will always be my first pregnancy. You will always be the first to inhabit my womb. I will remember you until the day I die.

Love,

Mommy

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The guilt of a miscarrying infertile

May 3, 2009

This morning I woke to Jack listening to the ipod, a far off expression.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head, “Nothing a song got me a little emotional.”

“Which song? Why?”

“It’s nothing,” he said looking away.

Later that evening, we sat together and the song came on.

“This is the song,” he said quietly.

“Why did it make you emotional?” I asked.

“It reminded me of the baby. Of what was supposed to be.”

I listened to the lyrics: stay and watch the coals Till they cease to glow Like empty promises Why, Why did you go, why did you go away? Baby? There’s nothing I can say Nothing I can do To bring you back again.

I held his hand and squeezed tightly. It hit me, the obvious realization, that though he might not cry like I do, and talk about it, he is hurting too. I realized how hard he tries to be strong for me as it took him all day to finally tell me what got him so sad.

It fucking breaks my heart that he is hurting. I hate that he feels he can’t lean on me like I can lean on him. I sometimes feel so guilty I have PCOS. He could be a dad now, but he’s not. I’m the reason we don’t have a child. I don’t ovulate regularly. I miscarried. Sometimes I feel like he deserves better. Would he have signed up for this deal if he knew what he was getting? He insists this is not true- but I can’t help it.

Three weeks to the date of my miscarriage- the scars still fresh, the pain lingers, the tears remain.

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You Gotta See The Baby! Seinfeld

May 2, 2009

I am seeing two new babies this week. One is a daughter of a friend who didn’t even really want to get pregnant and complained throughout. The other is a “friend” who constantly points out we’ve been married seven years and have yet to conceive. Seeing these “friends” holding their bundle and the smug things they will say to me makes my head hurt to think about.

Our babies would have been six  months apart. They would have been friends.  We would have arranged play dates and complained about the terrible twos. Birthday parties. Trick or Treating. These were all things my baby should have shared with them. Now I will hold these children, I will watch them grow up and I will remember what should have been. The absent third child remembered only by the ache of my heart.

I will smile tomorrow. I will ooh and awe. I will ask about sleeping schedules. But if in the car later that afternoon, if you see me cry- please don’t judge me.

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Miscarriage- random thoughts

May 1, 2009

Today, I felt normal. I went to work and felt absorbed.  Later, in the evening, during a phone call, I laughed. A real laugh, not just a polite chuckle. It surprised me, but I felt happy. Then a friend texted us that his wife is going into labor. Now, I glance at a calender. It’s May. My reaction is knee jerk: tears welling and an ache now familiar, throbbing. I’m nearly half way into 2009. I want to have a tantrum. To throw myself onto the floor and wail. Of course I do no such thing. Instead, I bake chocolate chip cookies. I remind myself to take it one day a time. I cannot worry about tomorrow.

I’m reading various books discussing the meaning of life and our purpose.  I am talking to a therapist to keep me from drowning. I hesitate to admit I see one, but I want anyone who comes across this to know its okay, and that a good therapist can help. I can tell him the things I cannot tell anyone else- not even Jack, not even this blog. It may not help everyone, and does not make my life rosy as I have yet to beat my one day no cry streak, but it makes things a little easier.  He says I seem to be in the midst of personal growth. And most growth involves pain. My miscarriage has spun my world off its axis. I’ve awoken from the day dream that is my daily life. I search for a framework as I float in zero gravity air. I am confused. I am upset. I am sad. I am scared. Certainly, there is pain, perhaps there will be growth.

A friend shared with me this quote: The lowest ebb, is the turn of the tide [Henry Wadsworth Longfellow].

I am at my lowest ebb. I await the turn of the tide.