I would like to take a moment to point out that I am actually a pro-choice person. I believe women have the right and the joy of deciding what to do with their bodies when they learn they are pregnant. Not every woman wants to be a mom, not all birth control does its job, not everything in life can be planned, and no one should judge anyone on a situation they themselves, have never had to deal with. I am pro-choice regardless of financial, cultural, relationship, religious, or beliefs. I am also a person who has wanted as many kids as I could have when I started having children. I am a person at first ultrasound at 6 weeks, holds my body, and says “I love you so much and I cannot wait to meet you”. For me all moments including the early ones are pieces of a lifelong love that matter. That is just me. That is my feeling about my children. I am pro as much noise in my house as possible. I am pro watching someone I helped bring into the world be their authentic self. That does not mean, I would ever go into another person’s life and tell them they should feel about anything the way that I do. You want more kids… cool! You want no kids, cool! – I wanted more, and the realization that it was not going to happen came in a cold, professional, and unempathetic manner on a rainy August afternoon.
I have wanted more children since N was one year old. In February of 2019, I had a false positive pregnancy test and it opened up a window for me I needed to climb through. My husband was not on the same page. He felt that two was enough, and we still had never gotten to date each other because we got pregnant with P not long after meeting. He wanted a break from bottles, diapers, and babies. Not me, I wanted more, and I was afraid the longer we waited the harder it would become. Thus began two years of discussions and sometimes arguments about adding to our family.
By March 2020 I didn’t just have baby fever, I had the baby plague. If I could have willed myself pregnant without any help from my husband, I would have. Friends would kindly listen to me obsess about why it hadn’t happened yet. I felt annoying talking, so I am pretty confident I was annoying to listen to. However, it was what was on my heart, and during a time when it seemed like everyone was having a pandemic baby, I couldn’t help but wonder, is this my time? Well… It was not. It was not my time at all. Months of trying, ovulation tests, and two week waits left me unpregnant and frustrated. Tension between my husband and I increased. The more I wanted it, the less he did. The more work it was to make a person, the more work I wanted to do, and the less work he wanted to do. All of the not getting pregnant reinforced his point that he just wanted a break. What would be the nail in the coffin of our “trying” came when I was referred to fertility specialists. Doctors that made me schedule an appointment to get lab results I already paid for. (WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!?) It caused such a massive argument in my marriage, that I waved my white flag. I decided to set out on the path of grieving and unrealized dream and focus on a life where I found fulfillment elsewhere. It took 6 months. 6 months to purge baby items, to stop being mad at my husband, to stop being mad at myself and move on. I returned to work, tried to look at the positives of having two children who didn’t rely on me in the same way, and started to get back in shape.
Then on June 11th I got the sneaking feeling I was pregnant. I wasn’t late, I did not feel sick, but I felt it. I took a test, and it was positive. I took six more tests and they were positive too. I told my husband who cried, hugged me, and was so excited. I well.. wasn’t. I knew I was pregnant but something felt wrong. Was it wrong because I just settled into a life and path that did not include baby? Was it wrong because I know my body, and I had a bad feeling? – Maybe it was a bit of both. However, as I did with my girls, I fell in love immediately.
One afternoon when I was 5 weeks, I was napping with the girls and I started to cry. I cried because I was laying down with all my kids. I cried because our family was going to be complete. I cried because all of my praying, fighting, hoping, and wishing for a voice I knew was missing in our lives paid off. In that moment my heart was so full. I have never been so happy in my life. That moment would be the only time the whole pregnancy I was not worried something was really wrong. When I say that, I mean I had a nagging feeling (and multiple dreams) that I was never going to get to hold my baby. I was crazy – I had to be. I had morning sickness, I saw a healthy baby twice, I was showing right away, I was “happy”. I had made plans to work until the baby came in February and then be off through the summer. I made a pregnancy announcement on our family vacation that I tucked away until I was in my second trimester. Yet, I had a feeling I did not share, that I could not shake. A feeling I so badly wanted to be wrong about.
On July 23rd I went to my 10 week appointment. This was going to be the moment of truth. What I saw was a beautiful baby kicking, and wiggling, with a perfect heartbeat. My doctor told me the baby was measuring perfectly. The doctor felt it was safe for me to start sharing my news because it was almost impossible to miscarry with this visit going so well at this stage. I was ecstatic. I cried and shared that I was worried I might have postpartum depression because I had a nagging feeling something was not right. She told me that just the fact that I shared that, she was not worried. To try to calm down and enjoy this moment, and I did. I would spend the next few weeks bouncing around, happy as a clam. Thinking of names, making a baby registry, and making space for our baby.
On August 11th I had a first trimester scan in my second trimester. I had just done a full announcement and waddled into my appointment excited to have the first of many 3d chats with my sweet baby. When the tech called me, we greeted each other like old friends. She had been the tech for both of my daughters, and I was overjoyed to see her, and share in the joy. I laid down got a quick glimpse of the baby and held my breath. Then the tech told me to go to the bathroom… But it is the first scan… I need my bladder full…. sinking feeling number one had happened. I emptied it halfway in hopes that it really was just too full – (because it is easier to believe I am crazy, then have good intuition about myself and my child). Then when I walked back in…. the tech said “No you can empty it all the way” – I walked back to the bathroom muttering “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead” – but I knew. I had done this too many times not to know. When I returned the tech took some measurements, we chatted about our kids, and then I said ” Hello Sweet Baby, I love you, and I cannot wait to meet you. I Hope you are just sleeping”. – At that moment the tech pulled her chair away and said the words that broke every part of my heart “There is no heartbeat”. From that moment on I was different.
The shift in a parent when they find out their child has died is… otherworldly. It is falling through a trap door, it is dying a little too, it is watching who you were from above your body in the moment of change… and sobbing. I would spend the rest of the appointment witnessing a new version of myself be introduced to the world. This person: Screamed at techs, repeated the work ‘fuck’ over and over as the doctor did a confirmation check. It is a bizarre feeling to meet yourself as the world is meeting you for the first time as an adult. That feeling, event, or moment is supposed to happen for your baby. Not you. They will never remember their first moments as a new person. A mother who was just told her child(ren) died will. It has been one year since this the day I learned my child died. One year since I learned my body could be used as a coffin. One year since I realized that my unconditional love for people I worked hard to create, is nothing more than a business for the people helping me bring life into the world.
I want my baby back. I want the old me back. I want for my world never to have stopped on a rainy afternoon in August.
Sincerely,
Michael’s Mom