Dear mommas – both new and to be:
I want to apologize, for so many things. For every squeal of excitement that I didn’t let out. For every hug that I didn’t give. For every question I didn’t ask about your pregnancy journey or the birth story or your plans for the newest plus one. For not being there when I really, really wanted to be. I’m sorry.
I know that you would be here for me right now, but I’ve been shutting everyone out; besides all of these posts and what I tell LG just before I break into tears, I don’t really want to talk about it. Saying everything out loud just makes it hurt that much more.
I want to love every pregnancy and birth announcement. I want to RSVP immediately to every baby shower invitation. I want to help brainstorm preparations for when baby comes. I want to hold and love and be in awe of the little life you created. Instead, my heart breaks a little every time. My breath catches in my throat, and I have to consciously steady my breath in and out.
This is kind of a “it’s not you, it’s me” situation, which sounds silly but is accurate for me. It makes me feel selfish, but not because I don’t want you to be happy. I’m not angry at you. I don’t feel jealousy bubbling up inside me. I don’t resent you. I’m selfish, because I can’t put aside my own grief to share in your happiness. And if I can’t do that, how can I ever ask you to share with me when it is my turn to bring a new life into this world?
In this selfishness, I ask for your forgiveness.
I really don’t know what to do. Do I embrace the grief so that I can show you my love and support? I’m trying to work on it – admittedly, sometimes it is easier to just wallow in it – but I’m always looking for answers, to see how other women have handled being in this situation.
I found one blog post where she writes, “Whatever loss we’re mourning, it’s not really about that person or event, but rather about our reaction to the loss. The sadness is about us and how we’re affected.” In that same post, she referred to another article that said, “One reality about miscarriage, though, is there will always be children the age our baby would be. There will always be pregnant people around me.”
I’ve tried for months and months to try to swallow that truth, but that doesn’t really apply to me right now. Because it isn’t just children who are the same age as my babies, it’s your baby; and it isn’t just pregnant people, it’s you – and I love you.
This is a message I’ve started, gone back to, and restarted many times; but now that I’ve had the courage to write it, I’ll be brave enough to be happy too.
All my love,