My thoughts are all
so jumbled about what I’m thinking that I really
don’t have a clue as to where to start. It’s so incredibly lonely
right now being a mother of a deceased infant. It feels like I am constantly reading
status updates from Facebook friends about getting pregnant or announcing the arrival of
their healthy, beautiful babies. I think the harder one’s to see/hear are the ones who got pregnant
after me. After each birth announcement I shake my fist in the air and think “Why me?! Why
does everyone else around me get to snuggle their baby and breathe in that newborn scent, but
not me?! Why was my perfectly healthy baby boy ripped away from the comfort of my arms?”
What did I do so wrong to deserve this?
When I see the first Facebook published pictures
of these sweet little bundles, I have to try so hard to crack even the slightest
smile at the joy those parents are experiencing. There’s so much of me that just won’t
allow that smile to happen. Every picture brings me back to the evening I gave birth to Brecken
and the events that followed. I don’t have those first family pictures moment’s after birth. I didn’t
get to perform my motherly duties and have my son suckle at my breast. I didn’t get to hold my
baby boy right away and watch his eyes discover who I was. I didn’t even get those god-awful
hospital newborn pictures done. Brecken’s name isn’t even on the hospital’s website list of babies
born on that day.
These past nearly 5 months of my life
have experienced so many ups and downs. Mostly downs, emotionally.
I have been accused of killing my son. I have been accused of committing fraud.
I have had family leave me, and have had to force other family out of our lives. I have been
told how I’m ‘supposed’ to deal with my grief. I have been told I needed to be committed.
I have gained nearly all of the baby weight back and have never hated
my body more than I have these past 5 months. One moment I am happy and feeling
semi-normal, and the next moment I’m back in a depression hole- and it seems as if some people
don’t understand those back and forth emotions. I hate being forced into functions I’m not ready
to take part of. I hate how I watch everyone else’s lives continue to move forward while I still
feel stuck in the month of January. I begin to hyperventilate as I even think about having to roll
on through that month year after year after year. I love speaking about my son, but I hate
how awkward it makes the people around me hear it. I hate how awkward it is to bring him up
or have someone ask me if I have kids. Torry and I were looking at houses one day, and one had
a nursery set up. We were talking about our need for central AC and somehow mentioned that
I was pregnant last summer. The woman asked me if I had a boy or a girl, and I said
“He was a boy.” Don’t know if she caught the ‘Was’ or not, but she didn’t ask any further
questions. I hated myself for that response. He WASN’T a boy, he IS a boy! He’s MY boy
and I love him and miss him more than I think anyone could love or miss anyone else.
Torry and I have
begun the process of trying for another baby in May.
We decided that it doesn’t matter how long we wait after having Brecken,
because we are going to experience the emotions that are going to come along with
the next pregnancy no matter if we waited 4 months or 4 years. It’s been hard to
do because now I’m thinking SO much about getting pregnant this time then I did last time.
I’m already stressing about it, already worrying about when I ovulate, and already worrying if
this month worked or not. I’m over-reading my body, looking for any slight symptoms of pregnancy
or my next period. I don’t know how to relax about it. My midwives told me to “Have fun with it!”
Easier said, than done. I don’t think I’ll stop stressing about it until I’m pregnant, and even then
I might not be satisfied until I give birth again and can be reassured that I’m meant to be a mother.