It's one of those moments that you play out in your mind a hundred times—the moment you find out you're expecting. How you'll react, the cutesy way you'll inform your spouse. For me, I had just finished a cycle class on New Year's Eve and the club had planned a little party for those of us willing to work out on a holiday. I vividly remember picking up the champagne toast and thinking, I can't drink this. I picked up a test at the drug store on the way home. There was no waiting for the best results in the morning or any of that. I had to know now. There they were. Two dark pink lines. I was stunned. I was beginning to think this was an impossibility for us. Creating a "baby toolkit" and any other foo-foo thing went out the window. I flew into my husband's office, tears streaming down my face, "We're pregnant." I'm not sure how long it took for my announcement to sink in. (In fact, I'm not sure that he truly believed me until the doctor confirmed it.) We attended a NYE celebration that evening with our community group and I felt that I would burst from keeping the news a secret. After all, many of these women had been praying for this exact miracle. But, I needed to wait and make sure the pregnancy "took." In an effort to satiate my desire for disclosure, we did what everyone does: made an ambiguous post on social media. After the initial shock wore off and there were more than a few rounds of tears and "oh heavens, what now?" we settled into planning. Pinterest boards beware! William was adamant that we would be using bamboo baby plates and I didn't care as long as they had a library that would make Belle envious. We planned a trip to San Antonio under the guise of celebrating our wedding anniversary so that we could tell my family. I was researching how to introduce dogs to babies and then, something changed. I knew something was wrong immediately. I scheduled an appointment with my doctor and tests were run. Everything is fine. It's not fine. I felt isolated. No one seemed concerned but me. Because we were in the "don't tell anyone" window of pregnancy, I suffered my crushing fear in silence. Finally, my office phone buzzed. Kirsten, Dr. --- on the phone. I knew before she began to speak. The latest tests came back...levels have decreased...you're losing the baby...we can't tell you why...are you okay? I worked in an office with two other women less than four feet from me. Okay. Yes. Mmm hmm. I understand. I hung up the phone and excused myself. I walked the parking lot and processed the information. I called William. I broke down in my boss' office. She suggested that I call my mom. "My mom doesn't even know we're pregnant...were," I sobbed. I called her anyway. She didn't understand what I was saying at first. It was a lot to process in five minutes. It's surreal, to envision an entire future for someone, then have it dissolve in even less time. Our baby was barely the size of strawberry but their sudden absence crushed me the weight of a thousand boulders. I never thought of myself as "motherly." I don't have the natural instincts that I see in a lot of my friends. But the shift was instantaneous. I became a mother right there in my flying pig leggings. Unfortunately, I am part of a community of invisible angel mamas. We are mothers that don't pack lunches or wipe noses. We don't get hand-drawn cards or scrambled eggs with the shells still in them. When we're asked, "Do you have any children?" we hesitate because we do, they just aren't here to smile for school pictures.
Most of the time we simply smile and say "not yet" or "just dogs right now" because it's easier than explaining it to you. We accept the carnation the usher offers us at church because we don't want to refuse and honestly, because we deserve it, too. We carried a child and we loved them fiercely for the time we were given. My husband and I tend to struggle around this holiday. He doesn't always understand that I still identify as a "mother," even though I have no baby to rock in my arms. I've been told (more than once) that men tend to bond with a baby once it's born. It's not their fault. They don't feel any biological changes—only the wrath they may cause. But for me, certain milestones are bittersweet. I find joy in celebrating my own mother and the many "mom figures" that have woven in and out of my life shaping the person that I am. However, the cold stabbing reminder of loss cannot be ignored. To those who are walking the hard path of loss, miscarriage, and infertility—you are seen. You are just as loved this Mother's Day and just as admired. You are the mother of an angel and —wow—what a high calling.
1 Comment
Rebecca
5/11/2019 03:49:41 pm
Oh Sweetie,
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AuthorWriting is really my outlet, so you'll mostly see my prose on here. But William might occasionally make a guest appearance. Archives
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