As I write this I am 9 ½ weeks pregnant with our second child. Our first child died last March, shortly before her birth at 40 ½ weeks- our beautiful daughter, Mathilda- Tillie for short, was born still. My longing for her is threaded through my entire life so why would this subsequent pregnancy be any different? That part actually feels normal, in this past year of grieving our sweet girl I have learned to carry that longing and the weight of it suits me fine. Sometimes it is still crushing but it feels right, it’s mine; it’s hers; it belongs to us.
What I am struggling with is the guilt. Not the guilt of being pregnant because that was its own difficult journey of secondary infertility, invasive tests, fertility drugs and ultimately intrauterine insemination (IUI). No, what I feel guilty about is that I am surviving the loss of my daughter when she couldn’t survive and I couldn’t help her survive. I feel like I am betraying her in some ways by trying to give her a little sibling. I know that I am not, but it feels that way sometimes. I miss and love her AND still have a deep desire for a living child. This feeling of betrayal is one that I can’t seem to shake. I also feel guilty for even beginning to talk about these feelings. So many Moms in the loss community cannot or choose not to try for a subsequent pregnancy, so who am I to even discuss the difficulties of it all? The truth is either choice, to try again or to not, takes an enormous amount of courage. In the spirit of that courage, I am going to try and speak to my own experience in this subsequent pregnancy, regardless of the guilt. I am terrified. After a year in the loss world I have come to know some incredible loss parents and the stories of the children they have tragically lost. The by-product of this is that I am now aware of an infinite number of ways that babies die and the multiple losses that people endure. Now that I am pregnant again, I find myself over analytical of my body and my experience. Anytime I can’t feel a pregnancy symptom I am stressed that something is wrong. I embrace the nausea, the breast pain, the bloating—it helps me feel like everything is okay. This self-analysis is non-stop and exhausting- the worry is intense and doesn’t even give me a break when I am sleeping, my dreams are filled with anxiety. Pregnant women and babies still really upset me. Yes, I am pregnant and I wanted nothing more than to become pregnant again, but that doesn’t mean I feel remotely secure. I also have a really hard time with the word “congratulations”. I just don’t feel like there is anything to congratulate yet, even with the secondary infertility. My only experience with pregnancy ended in death and devastation. I just can’t bring myself to believe that this will end well. I hope and wish with every fiber of my being that I will be able to bring this baby home, alive and well in my arms- but I won’t believe it until it happens. I still have a lot of anger and resentment towards those who are pregnant or toting babies around. It makes me feel like a hypocrite and that I don’t belong in any group. I’m not just a loss mom anymore, and while I still don’t have any living children, I am now pregnant so it complicates everything. I of course will always be a bereaved mother who is welcome in that community, but I just feel a little like a traitor now that I am pregnant. I am definitely not a “normal” pregnant woman and as I (hopefully) get bigger and start to show, I know all of those innocent questions from people will get some uncomfortable answers, but this is not my first- and while I am excited, I am also terrified. I have to give those answers because lying feels way worse and I can’t feel bad about making people uncomfortable for a minute or two when I carry this every moment of every day. I just wish I could live in a bubble until this baby (hopefully) comes. I am excited. I’m excited in spite of myself and my experience. I am trying to connect with this new babe and make space. I sometimes feel joy and enthusiasm about what my life could be if this baby lives and that feels really strange. That’s when the betrayal ebbs back in -- but I know how much I love my sweet Tillie. Nothing will ever change that. She will always be our first child and if we’re lucky enough to give her living siblings, they will know about her, celebrate her and incorporate her in their lives too. I guess the most important thing that I keep trying to remind myself is that there is room for all of it. The fear that this baby will die too; the worry of leaving Tillie behind in some way; the hope that this baby could open my heart and my world again; the guilt of expressing these feelings when not everyone gets or wants to try for a subsequent pregnancy. I have room for all of these emotions and they can co-exist. When I remember that—I feel a little better. So for now, in this crazy limbo space, I will try to keep that as my mantra- ‘There is room for all of it’.
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Darcie & JonathanLovebirds in Loss. Archives
April 2018
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