This post is negative, whiney and rather pessimistic. You may want to skip over this one.
The holiday greetings conundrum is an exaggerated version of
the usual dead-baby-conversation icebreaker all babylost parents face. When a friend, neighbor or colleague asks how my
holiday was I have a choice. I can throw out a customary answer, “Busy; you
know how it goes.” Or I can answer honestly, “It’s really difficult. Our son
would be at a very fun age this holiday season.” The former discredits my daily
experience but allows the social interaction to occur and end without the
opposite party feeling uncomfortable. The latter often leaves the other
person’s brow furrowed with disconcertment. Usually the other person says
something they believe to be sympathetic and sensitive. Usually what they say
is actually insensitive and makes me feel worse.
I would out-and-out regret
being honest at all in the first place, but part of me feels as though I am
crusading for all bereaved people. That by using the opening in conversation to
push my ongoing grief into the spotlight momentarily, I force the unscathed to
remember my tragedy and to recognize, even briefly, the agony I continue to
live with. Sure I walk away feeling worse because of their ineptitude and
insensitivity, but maybe they’ll be more aware with the next bereaved person
they confront.
If one more person wishes me a Merry Christmas or Happy
Holidays I am going to punch them in the face. The random strangers bother me
less. It’s the people in my life who ought to know better. Passing in the hall
at the office this week a coworker says to me, “Did you have a good Christmas?”
“No,” I replied flatly and kept walking. She stopped dead in her tracks, jaw
slightly agape. “What?!” “No. It’s really shitty without my 14-month-old son.”
I had similar exchanges with three staff members at the
perinatologist’s office the day before. And in all of these brief conversations
the other party, lacking any substantive reply always, always responds with a reference to Baby Dragon – “Well you’ll have
this little one next Christmas!” This is infuriating. Surely if they took a
minute to think first, they wouldn’t say something so stupid. But social
pressure insists we wrap up our chat neatly and on a positive note.
We are at 37-weeks. If this kid doesn’t come on it’s own
we’ll induce at 39-weeks which means one way or the other we’ll be having a
baby in the next couple weeks. And yet the hospital bag is not packed. The car seat is not installed. The baby laundry is not done. Is it denial? Probably a
little bit. Part of me is still hesitant to truly believe we are having a baby
and that this baby will actually be coming home with us.
I sometimes feel like Charlie Brown. Like I’ll come charging
up to kick the football and at the very last second, it is whisked away and I
end up flat on my back, hurting with the breath knocked out of me.
I am petrified. We’re at the finish line of this pregnancy
and this baby could die any minute. Just -- like -- last -- time. My naivety has been
obliterated. I know now, that I cannot protect this baby any more than I could
protect A.
Maybe the fear is feeding the denial. If I don’t think about the approaching due date then it isn’t real, right? All of a sudden I am deflated of any self-confidence. I am scared of the pain of labor (even though I dreamed and prayed for it back in the spring when we were trying to get pregnant). I am terrified but I can’t put my finger on exactly what I’m terrified of. I do know that this terror is preventing me from spiritually and emotionally welcoming this child to the outside world. Said emotional and spiritual clamping up is probably affecting my body and preventing labor from starting on its own. I am too scared to welcome this birth with unabated enthusiasm.
The fear is paralyzing. I sit and stare at the
to-do-before-Dragon-arrives-list but don’t actually do the things listed. In
fact I’ve found it harder and harder to get out of bed each morning – a classic
avoidance technique I honed in college. You know the sleep for hours and hours
tactic?
And yet as in the darkest days of my grief, time ticks on which
means birth is inevitable regardless of my acknowledgement or readiness.
Stay safe baby Dragon; stay safe.
Stay safe baby Dragon! xoxo
ReplyDeleteYes, stay safe, baby Dragon. I'm so sorry December sucked ass. It did for me, too. And I'm so sorry that you're waiting out these last few weeks in fear. You're not alone. Do whatever it takes - denial - whatever, that can get you breathing through the days. Baby clothes can be washed later. Do less. Cross things off your list. It's amazing how little they actually need once they're here, and how much of the just fussing around in the days and weeks before is just making oneself busy through the excitement and nerves and energy. A couple of hours skin -to - skin under the blankets while the wash runs? Easy. You really don't have to do that much now. Here, if you take the car seat to a police station or a fire station, or even, I think, an emergency room, they'll "properly install" it for you. Delegate what must be done and let go of the rest. Take good care of yourself, even if that looks and feels denial and a lot of sleep.
ReplyDeleteWholeheartedly agreeing with Suzanne: deny if you need to; don't do the things on the list if they feel too hard or too jinxy or whatever. It can all be done later. Hide under the covers if you need to, scowl at whomever you feel like scowling at, forget about social graces. And know you are loved, and that we are out here willing Dragon to stay safe with you, sending you strength and hugs and hopes for the best delivery under the circumstances. I'm thinking of you all the time.
ReplyDeleteHoping these weeks go by quickly for you and that soon you are holding your precious babe in your arms. Xx Di
ReplyDelete