The Un-Mother

When Abby was born Rocky and Carrie had our friend Marnie there for support, and due to the fact that she is 15 years older than Carrie, the nurses thought she was the Grandma. Afterwards it became a little joke, and Marnie was calling herself Abby's "Un-Grandma". That evolved into a day calling Tim and I her "Un-Aunt" and "Un-Uncle". I was thinking about that today, remembering that before Abby was born, on mothers day, I had had a hard day because it was my first "Un-Mothers Day". I'm an Un-Mother, a would-be mother without a child. I woke up this morning and one of the first things that popped into my mind was that I should be 4 months pregnant today, and I'm not. I should be out of my first trimester and entering my second trimester with my first baby. Lately the grief hasn't been hitting so hard or so frequently as it had been. I've been able to get back into my everyday life, I've been able to focus at work and get things done, I've been able to take care of my husband again rather than just letting Tim take care of me, I've been able to do the laundry and the dishes, and today I was planning on vacuuming. But this morning sucks. I should have seen this coming, I sort of did, but held it off for a while.

Sunday a friend mentioned another woman in the church is pregnant, then remembered who she was talking to and immediately felt bad, but she remembered to ask how I was. Why should she feel bad for mentioning that to me? I should be able to be happy for the people around me who are pregnant, but it made me feel a little mellow and more than a little impatient to get out of there. Monday we went to a Tigers game with some family, including Maria and Rebekah. Tim held Rebekah a lot, same as he did Friday at our regular after-softball-dinner. I was hesitant to hold her when usually I would be trying to steal her from everyone. It's hard sometimes for me to see Tim hold a baby, to be so attentive. He'll be an awesome father, and should have been one 5 months from now. I should have been able to give him that. At Patrick's open house on Wednesday evening, a family friend asked me how I was doing and said "you know what I'm talking about". It was the best thing. People have stopped checking on me. Stopped asking me how I am. It's as if most of them have forgotten, and I realize it can't go on forever, but it's almost as if since they have forgotten I'm supposed to have forgotten as well. I know it's healthy to move on, and I have mostly, but that doesn't mean forgetting, not for me. It seems that with miscarriages it is so easy for people to move on, to say or think "well, that baby was never a part of your life, you never held that baby, you didn't know if that baby was a boy or a girl or have the chance to think up a name" and act as if the baby wasn't real, wasn't a part of me. That's how people treat miscarriages, as if they don't count as loss, or they don't count as much. I also got to see Abby again on Wednesday, though not for long and I didn't get a chance to hold her. My arms felt empty not holding her, I felt empty. It's not that Abby is a replacement for my baby, I'm not going to treat her like one, but holding her gives me comfort, even when leaving her makes me sad. It's the same for Rebekah. Often times it's hard for me to see others hold them, most of the time I want to be holding them, and it's for purely selfish reasons. When they're in my arms I can forget my sadness and remember their parent's joy, and though there may be a little bit of jealousy there, it's not the majority of my feelings. I've been thinking though that maybe it's not healthy for me and that I shouldn't impose upon their lives. So I've been holding back. I haven't been with Carrie as much as we thought I would be, I've found and created other things to do when they ask us over. It's bittersweet, seeing them form a bond with Abby, and I won't lie, it hurts sometimes, though most of the time I'm just happy for them. I don't want to taint what's theirs. I know it's illogical, that they'd disagree with my trying to leave them alone (and probably are at this point since they're some of the only people who read this thing), but I also know that if anyone understands, it will be Carrie.

If Tim weren't in school, he'd be ready to have a baby. This was our timeline when we first were married, 3 years we said, 3 years. A year or so ago we decided that when we were both at the level of wanting a baby 5 days/week, we'd start trying. Well, we're there. I had been there for a while, and now Tim is here too, but we can't now because it would be too stressful with school for Tim and my lack of pregnancy insurance. We know we could do it, our parents did it and did it with less money, and we know we have all of their backing if we need it, but it's the time thing. We have very little time for each other right now, so how could we make time for a baby on top of that? Also, emotionally I don't think I'm ready yet, I want one, but I still need time to continue healing. Most days I'm ready, but occasionally I'm not. Some people don't understand that after a miscarriage another baby isn't a replacement. No child could replace the one I've lost, even though I never got to know my baby. I'll have others, but they will be individuals, not replacements. Each of my children will stand on their own, be important for themselves, be worthy of love because they will be fearfully and wonderfully made, because they will be mine and ours and God's. Beloved already is. I'm excited for the day I meet her or him, know my child, hold her/him in my arms, kiss her/his cheeks, and say hello for the first time.

Most of the time I'm fine. A lot of the time I'm really good. But there are days like today when I feel like I've just been sucker punched in the ovaries.