I have been keeping fairly quiet throughout this subsequent pregnancy with Mathilda’s little sister. It’s almost like if I can hold my breath for these 39 weeks I might come out the other side unscathed and with a living baby in my arms. Being pregnant again after burying our first daughter Mathilda who died shortly before she was born still at full term- 40 weeks and 4 days on March 4th, 2016- has been really challenging. My husband, Jonathan and I knew it would be- we knew it would be a struggle to stay positive, to see other pregnant couples full of ignorant bliss at the doctor’s office, to handles people’s well-meaning yet sometimes hurtful comments. Of course we would rather be on this journey, navigating the rocky waves, than not. That was our choice- to try again. Not to replace our sweet Tillie, but to give her a little sibling and ourselves the chance at a living child.
I guess I am writing this because so many people have been checking in with me lately and I am feeling like my radio silence might be causing concern. All is going smoothly with our second daughter’s pregnancy- which is wonderful. I am grateful for this, but it doesn’t help curb my fears and anxieties. Mathilda’s pregnancy was a smooth one too- she had all of the right test results and met all of the benchmarks of a healthy gestation- that is until the very end. So, we know that there is no “safe zone”- we can’t help but operate from a place of fear this time around. We know a fact that most people would prefer to not even think about- babies die. Our baby died. That is the only experience we have with pregnancy. So when people say to me- 'stay positive' or 'don’t worry'- I just have to laugh/ throw something. It’s so very easy for them to say, but that is simply not a possibility for us. I also appreciate that it is hard to know what to say- I get that. I think the worst thing someone can do is deny reality- like this pregnancy will fix our grief. It won’t and it can’t- it has been helping and as this little girl gets bigger, squirming and kicking, it does really help in many ways. It also reminds me of how my Mathilda used to move around and kick me at the bottom of my right rib cage. I miss that. I miss her being here. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to tell that it wasn’t Tillie back in my belly, but this second daughter is different. I can feel the differences and the similarities and I know she is her own person, but has some of her big sister in there too. I hope she lives. I hope she gets to live the life our Tillie never will. Only better, her own life- which will be different than Mathilda's would have been. Lately I have been grieving their relationship. If given the chance, we will raise this little girl to know all about her big sister, but they won’t be able to get into trouble together. Commercials are the worst for this- especially right now- every commercial I see on television features babies and children. They hit me hard and from out of the blue and suddenly I am weeping on the couch because our girls won’t get to sneakily give each other terrible haircuts. Luckily I don’t watch a lot of TV and when I do I am at home, so I am free to blubber away at the little girl in the party dress who fell asleep on the potty because she had the “time of her life”. Sometimes things will catch me when I am out- anything having to do with sisters. I have started buying a lot of “Little Sister” onesies. I hope she gets to wear them. It makes me feel better to have the proof written right there- this baby is someone’s little sister and I refuse to deny that. I refuse to deny Mathilda’s existence. I won’t do it. I’ve found the most popular question, now that I am visibly pregnant (at 27 weeks as I write this) to be “Is this your first?!” I always answer honestly (no, we have a daughter) and then inevitably talk about our Tillie when they ask me how she is and I share that unfortunately she died. It’s not the answer they expect or want, but I decided long ago that I would never make myself feel worse for the two-minute comfort of a stranger. Pregnancy and Infant loss is an uncomfortable topic- and it happens to families all of the time and by staying quiet, I am not helping the social acceptance of that. Why should we feel bad on top of mourning our beautiful brave babies?! I won’t do it. I was told the other day that because my first child didn’t live my life hadn’t changed yet. Without missing a beat I said that a year and a half of intense grief had most certainly changed my life- not in the way I had hoped, but I am a mother and my life has changed. Of course I hope that it changes in a different way this time around, but I will not let a stranger judge my motherhood or the degree to which my life has changed. He went on to say that it will be an amazing experience when I give birth. I let him know that it was an amazing experience when I gave birth to my daughter- just because she didn’t live didn’t mean I didn’t give birth to her or cherish the time we had together. I thanked him for his well wishes and tried not to make it too awkward. I did however break out into hives because I don’t like confrontation and the whole thing made me upset and nervous. Overall though I walked away feeling so proud of myself for speaking out. I wasn’t sure how I was able to think so quickly in the moment- oftentimes I have the ‘I-should-have-said's’ but this time I really stood up for myself, for my daughter and for my motherhood. I know he meant well, but I just couldn’t agree or let it slide and I am glad that I didn’t. At the end of the day if there was a subsequent pregnancy bubble option, I would take it. If I could nap from now until November, I probably would. Initially I thought that I would cherish each moment of this pregnancy since I knew that it could be all we get, but it’s just not that easy. The over-self-analysis of the physical and emotional, the instincts of self-preservation to not connect with this baby that I didn’t think I would experience but am, the longing for Mathilda as I get to know this new little person growing inside of me- it’s a lot to handle on top of managing a high-risk pregnancy and working full time. The constant battle in my mind between hope and fear is exhausting. Again, I am truly grateful to be here, and hope to welcome a living breathing baby in November, but I can’t lie and say that it is easy. All I can do is hang in there and hope for the best. So, that’s what we are doing.
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Darcie & JonathanLovebirds in Loss. Archives
April 2018
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