When my son was stillborn at 41 weeks, I came home to a complete nursery. All of his clothes were washed and sorted, his diapers laid out next to wipes and creams. And maybe it sounds counterintuitive, but I was thankful.
So many people talk about God’s plan, say that they are comforted because their child is with God, because their loss must be part of some greater meaning. It just feels like a cop out to me.
I live with this anger, this endless rage. I lay still in yoga, but all the time I want to scream.
We talk a lot about blame. Everyone says it’s not my fault. Does it really matter? Are you any less gone?
You are turning one next week, and I feel jealous. You are turning one, and my son won’t be here to send you a sloppy scribbled birthday card. You are turning one, and I am aching, and I realize that I miss your mother. I miss her, but I’m still not ready to be friends.
The doctor had to leave. She said she would be back, but after she left, I decided I couldn’t wait. I asked if the midwife was available. I don’t think she was supposed to be on until noon, but they called her, and she came.
I felt the water rushing out of me. I noticed with such a detached feeling that it was almost like peeing, except I had no control. Then I looked down, and saw that it was all blood. My first thought was this was proof something was wrong with me. My second was that maybe I was dying.
I don’t know how long you were struggling. I felt your movements, I thought you were excited. I thought you were getting ready to come. I wish I had known. I wish I had saved you.
I see her on the other side of the glass, and my heart breaks for what we both have that the other needs.
My worst regret is drinking half a can of Red Bull on those mornings I struggled to get out of bed. In that reality, I know it’s not my fault. I loved you more than life itself.
People ask if I’m suicidal, but I don’t think anyone really wants to know the truth. I think about it every day. I look out the door of our cabin and think how easy it would be. I could just jump. It scares me. I don’t think I want to die, but neither do I want to live.
It’s not normal yet. I told March it all feels like a dream, like something that just didn’t happen. I struggle to remember I was pregnant at all.
After he died, after that scream, I shattered. It wasn’t that time flowed differently. It was a completely different life.
I don’t think too much about actual dates, and so I missed the anniversary of my 39th week. And this is important to me, because it’s the date my providers had pushed for induction. And I wonder — if I had chosen differently, would I have a living child?
With the benefit of hindsight, I can look back on my pregnancy and identify the signs both I am my providers should have seen before Adrian died. There were multiple problems that led to his preventable stillbirth.
The story of how I planned for conception and pregnancy as a single mother by choice (SMC), the process of becoming pregnant, and the sheer joy in looking forward to my son Adrian’s birth.
I don’t understand it, little one. I don’t understand how you could be here, and then not. I don’t understand how you’re still in my belly, but you’re already gone. I don’t understand how the world makes sense anymore. I never got to hold you, and I miss you so much. My heart is broken.
I had my 40 week appointment (a day early) this morning. The midwife said you are doing well, and should be ready to join us any day now. I’m ready whenever you are.
You may wonder what I looked like while I was pregnant. I had some photos taken a few weeks ago, along with Saki and Amy Anne. I think they turned out pretty well.
I finished your nursery today. I have your crib and dresser, and a changing pad on top of your dresser. I also put away the last of your shower gifts. Everything is waiting for you to come home.
This week was hard, but it put some things into perspective for me. I’m going to meet you soon, and our lives are about to change in the most wonderful way.
Tomorrow, I’m taking a Greyhound bus to visit some good friends in Louisiana. This will be my last road trip before I finally get to meet you!
I’ve been a little more tired lately, but I’ve been keeping myself busy. I started childbirth classes about a month ago, and I’m learning a lot about you and how I hope our child birth will go.
I thought I felt some flutters a while back, but nothing I could say for definite. Then, today, I was sitting in the doctor’s office, and you–wooshed.
I’ve been feeling a lot better, so I flew to Washington D.C. this weekend to visit some old friends. We’ve all known each other for many years, and I’m glad I could spend time with them before they left the city.
The books say you like to move around a lot right now, and you did not disappoint. At one point, I even saw the bottoms of your tiny, tiny feet. I think you’re perfect 🙂
You’re a little over 10 weeks today….You have fingers and toes, and you’re growing fingernails right now. If I had an ultrasound today, you would look like a tiny little human being.
You are about the size of a blueberry now, and your arms and legs have started to grow. I started looking at nursery furniture. I’m leaning towards Dumbo.
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