I received a case of baby formula in the mail today. It was more of a sealed box, like something you'd pick up in the grocery store if you had an actual baby to feed, but to me it might as well have been a case. Something containing a variety of formulas for different seasons of the breast feeding process. It was waiting quietly on the step like an intruder, and I took a good look at it, at the name on the label that wasn't even mine (but a version of my name that got botched along the way by whatever baby website was sending it), and tossed it in the trashcan.
When you lose your baby, you need to remember all the people you told you were pregnant. You need to get rid of things like date books (I had written every week along the way in mine, including important milestones. In case you were wondering, I'd be at week 33 right now), all the books around the house that have photos and illustrations of the pregnant body (it turns out my baby didn't look like the babies in those anyway), and cards of congratulations get mixed with the cards of sympathy when you pile them all in the drawer of your kitchen hutch. In my notebook, there is an entry that reads: "Hid baby books, picture of first ultrasound on the refrigerator, the notebooks on the bedside table that contained letters I'd written to him." In my junk email folder, I have ample correspondence from BabyCenter (whose most recent email reads: "You're in the home stretch!"), Mothers Lounge LLC, Destination Maternity ("Happy Mother's Day! Promo code for a Free Nursing Cover!"), Motherhood, and Huggies Brand. I was getting email from all of the above, and I thought we had taken every action to stop anything baby-related from filtering through, but apparently someone didn't get the memo in the baby formula department.
I'm going to be brutally honest here. All is not well. I was feeling poorly a few months back, and a pelvic exam from the doctor at the end of February resulted in "everything looks fine, you have the stomach flu." No, I did not have the stomach flu then, and I do not have the stomach flu now, and I am still experiencing the cyclical physical reminder that yes, this happened to me (in case I had somehow forgotten), and it is apparently something I have to muscle through, like everything else. Today is one of those days where I have stayed home for this very reason, waiting to hear back from my doctor (feeling like I am somehow bothering her, this needy girl who can't just get on with it, because didn't this happen months ago? Shouldn't I be better by now?), listening to Billie Holiday, and receiving baby formula in the mail.
I have found something else in my notebook that I just can't shake. It makes me feel like grief has messed with my mind, and left me grasping. This, from March 8th: "At work, I reach for a box of old forgotten granola bars, and all I've got is: 'The last time you ate one of those, your baby was still okay.' "
When I was pregnant, I had two dreams about my baby. The doctor asked at one point if I had any inkling about gender, and by that point I had already had two dreams (the only dreams I would have during the pregnancy). In both, he was a boy. In neither, he was a baby. He was a toddler or maybe a bit older, it wasn't entirely clear, and he wasn't entirely in my reach. I was never holding him or feeding him or doing the things mothers do with their children. It was almost as if he wasn't mine at all, more like I was watching him from some distant shore, like a mother watching from across a soccer field or peeking from behind a curtain at a ballet recital. And in my dreams I had nothing to worry about, he was well cared for, strong, a cherub, pale skin, pale hair, looked like Robert not like me, and perfectly whole.
2 comments:
Anne - you have captured so perfectly how I felt three years ago. Receiving that formula was like a punch in the gut. I still haven't brought out my baby books which are mixed in my books of loss. The grief did not go away for me. It just became a part of who I am. Supportive husband and snuggly dogs helped. Some days I can talk about it; some days I can't. Certain songs will take me back to "I was pregnant with my first then". Even now, when people ask if this pregnancy is my first, I hesitate, just a little, before I answer yes (I am not really sure if the answer should be yes, but it is easier than explaining everything). Hugs to you - Steph
Anne - wow u captured some raw emotions here on paper. The reason I want to comment is that I had a similar dream about my unborn child, who said to me, "don't worry I am shining brightly for you here in heaven." He was also a boy. Life here is hard, but we continue to run for the prize that at some point maybe in eternity we will understand. Love your post!
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