Thursday, September 9, 2010

He arrived-

Our new nephew was born early on the morning of the eighth. He arrived safely, with little fanfare; just as he should. Alive. Healthy. Perfect.

Everyone is so happy.

I'm happy for them, really. But I've had moments off and on all day- mini pity parties I guess you would say. I really hate feeling this way. I hate being so bitter, so jaded, so angry, so sad- I hate infertility, I hate pregnancy loss. I feel disgusted with myself when I start whining to someone about how unfair it is- life's not fair, and I freakin' know that. And I know what a precious gift it is for her. And I am so ardently happy that they don't know this pain.

But still. It's hard.

I feel fine and then I don't. I feel dislocated, amputated. It's easy to feel that way since we haven't been to the hospital, haven't smelled the scent of new life, haven't talked to them personally- only through impersonal text, impersonal FB messaging, through a nice shield of technology to keep the real and the all too real separate.

I'm sure when we visit next week, it will hit me more fully.

I laid in bed this morning after work, and waited for sleep. It was hard to come by, chased often by loose thoughts. I took them in, let them pass, took them in, tried to process and fail, fought to get to sleep. Before I went to sleep I shed a few tears for what I realized was part of the bigger sadness over it all... they have the life that we should have had. Not to say they shouldn't have had it too, but they have the life we honestly thought we would have... we thought we would, and then we didn't. They thought they would, and then they did.

I can see the whole future-that-should have been unfolded before us. I can see where things went wrong, and how it could have went right. How things could have fell into place, like it did for them, and how our life would be. I never unfold this future, it hurts too much. I tuck it away and hide it, I pretend it never existed.

But now, here is this replica of that old life-that-never-existed... in front of us, unfolding on it's own and in it's own unique way.

And we are watching it, and remembering what was lost.

If I hadn't stopped ovulating at twenty-one... If I hadn't lost the first baby... If I hadn't lost the second baby... If I hadn't lost the third... If life hadn't been so intent on giving me lessons on how to be kicked when you're already down...

No matter what happens now, that future is never achievable. That ship has sailed on without us. We are not the same people, our situation is not the same, our expectations are no longer the same, what we want is not the same. Even if a successful pregnancy is achieved, my husband and I will not rejoice until we hold a living breathing child in our arms. Even if said pregnancy is achieved we will never feel the way we might have before the first doctor told us we might never have children. We will never feel the way we did before the first miscarriage. We will never feel the way we did again. There will be no excitement from our families- not until we reach a certain point, because even they will sometimes acknowledge our history. Whatever way we become parents, the type of parent we are will be different- we will be more cautious, more protective, more paralyzed with fear that something will happen. We would have anyway, but now I know I will be all that more scared. Because we have struggled so hard, and lost so much.

No, that future is never achievable. Yet I continue to mourn it. I mourn the perpetual loss of it, because it didn't just leave us overnight- it happened over the course of years. Years.

One of the other things it's brought up, is the loss of my pregnancies. I should have a two year old, a one year old, a newborn... they should be children... instead of this unresolved longing, this aching grief. I miss them... even if pretty much no one else does.

As I said, there are a lot of emotions going on and I'm still processing.


Alenka said...

What a sad sad post...

Celia said...

I still miss our first baby. My husband does too, Peter brings home what we could have had more than my miscarriage did for him. I am praying that you are sent the grace you need to get through this with as little pain as possible.

Glass Case of Emotion said...

I miss my babies too, and I can relate 100% to this post. It's so unfair to have not only difficulty conceiving but also to lose babies. It's just loss on top of loss on top of pain.

I could really relate to this line, "No matter what happens now, that future is never achievable. That ship has sailed on without us. We are not the same people, our situation is not the same, our expectations are no longer the same, what we want is not the same."

It took me awhile to accept this fact- that our life would never be the same. I didn't want to admit that even to myself. But, it's very sad, and I can completely understand your need to mourn it. I certainly have. And people having babies around me always stirs the pot. said...

I miss my two lost little ones, even if no one else does.

I'm sorry for the hurt right now. I'm so sorry for your losses. It's hard to look and see how much it hurts and continues to hurt over the span of years.


Anonymous said...

This was tough to read. I wish I could give you a hug. I can't tell you that everything will be okay, but I can tell you that I understand how you feel about the birth of your nephew.

You are in my thoughts.


Kristin said...

Oh honey...lots of love and {{{hugs}}} coming your way. You never stop missing and loving the ones you lost.

MK said...

Oh man, I know how hard it is. Every time my brother's wife gives birth, it's kind of a punch in the gut. It sucks, though I do love my nephews insanely a lot. :)
Thinking of you.

Waiting Lisa said...

I have never experienced a nephew or niece being born, but I already know when it happens it will be very hard. And if it happens before we have our baby, I will be a total wreck. I don't envy my siblings when it comes time for them to have to tell me they are having a baby. It sucks. I hate that I will be more sad than happy.

I am so sorry for your losses and all you are going through as you grieve.