Also from my journal… from February, just a few weeks after losing Ander. It rambles a bit, but I let it, as I think it reflects how scattered I felt at the time.
I was going to be a member of the Working Parents Group at my company. Guess that’ll have to wait now.
It’s weird what sets me off. Today, I had the insult of having to go to Target to buy more breastmilk storage bags, and walking down the infant aisles got me a little teary. We never had a chance to get excited about being pregnant, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get that. I want to allow myself that little thing, that feeling of joy that other women get to have – but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get past the anxiety. Even this pregnancy I felt bad about tampering K’s enthusiasm. It must have been hard from her end, watching me bleed, unable to do anything. I feel horribly that I went into labor in the few minutes she wasn’t at the hospital, so she had to run back and dress quickly only to be stuck outside the operating room, waiting anxiously with snow melting off her boots and pooling on the floor, waiting even longer when they told her the baby would be out momentarily when it really took 5-10 minutes. She had the camera ready, waiting… waiting… but I digress. Target just made me sad. Baby stuff makes me feel regret and sad. I want a baby! I want Ander back! But mostly, I want to enjoy laying a baby down on a soft fluffy blanket and talking to him or her softly while he/she smiles. I want that, but something in me doesn’t think I’m going to have it and that makes me sad. Preemptively, I know, so I won’t share this feeling with K, so at least one of us can enjoy the next pregnancy! (Note: when I feel the baby move, I know I’ll fall in love no matter what.)
It’s probably better we no longer live in DC. Unless I were still pregnant, then it would be great. To see all the fuss over the new babies (C and A’s little boy, A and A’s little boy, P and D’s little boy… ) would have been really hard, harder than it is just via Facebook!
I thought I was over the regret over not getting to deliver naturally, but then I saw my friend K touting her natural birthing place and once again felt that jealousy and sadness. I wanted that. And it’s something I will never have. Most of the time, I don’t care, not as long as I have a healthy baby. After all, I did get Anderson for a time, briefly. But other times I’m so upset. Why did it have to happen like this? I wanted that experience. So many women don’t, but I did. I wanted to have that virtuous, natural, holier-than-thou birth experience of which I could be proud. I’m proud of how I survived what I did go through, but it still disappoints me. Maybe the blow to my pride is what I needed from this. But really? It seems an extreme reaction to such a relatively minor point of pride.
Was God merciful towards me? Was He merciful towards Anderson?