Right Where I Am: 365 Days Later

This post is part of the Right Where I am Project, created by Angie at Still Life with Circles. Please check out her post from this year and all the great responses from other babylost parents through recent years:

Right Where I Am


I've been meaning to write this for a while. I've been busy with our new babe, born June 9, 2013, 299 days after his big sister died and was born. Where I am right now is plain worn out. I am not the open wound I was last year at this time. Tears are not streaming like an open tap down my face. Instead, they seep. My sobs are softer, muffled. I can't quite believe that it all really happened. I had a baby, felt her move inside me, fell in love with her, and she died. Then I was fortunate to get pregnant as soon as I could and I now have a living baby, a year later. This new baby would not, could not be here unless we lost our dear Chiara. This is a lot for a brain to process, for a mother to get her heart around.

I yearn for my daughter. I ache for her even as I count my blessings in my two living boys. I ponder another pregnancy even though I am terrible at pregnancy. Hyperemesis with all 3. Callouses on my knees during this last one. Honestly. Another pregnancy won't bring her back though, a daughter won't make this longing go away.

When I think about myself, and how this loss has changed me, I'm amazed. I didn't think I could survive a loss like this. I still reflect on what happened to us and I can't believe we're still putting one foot in front of the other each day. But we are. There are lots of tears, lots of sighs, but also there is laughter, there is joy, there is hoping and dreaming for the future. There is a knowledge that we have faced something truly horrific, something unthinkable, and survived. And we have done it together. I am so tired, some due to grief and some due to mothering this new living baby and my 3 year old. In the midst of the exhaustion, and the sadness, there is also some pride. I have not let this loss define me. I have endured a great sorrow and I have pressed on. I am not the first woman to have done this. I will not be the last. We are a sorry sisterhood, but a strong one. We know things we should not know: how it feels to hear that your baby is dead, to make decisions on parenting a dead child, how it feels to give birth to death, to hold a tiny baby that was to be your daughter, to watch your dreams extinguish, to explain death to a 3 year old, to endure the communications that entails ( such as: "yes, a baby did die in mummy's belly" and "no, hopefully this new baby won't die like the last one did"), and to endeavor to make a new life even while fiercely grieving one that was lost (there is nothing more serious than sex after your baby dies).

Now I am part of the lucky sisterhood that has welcomed a new baby after a loss. I marvel at his perfection, his breath, his heartbeat, his placenta and cord that functioned as they should and brought him safely here. I hope that he will stay a long time, that he will outlive me and his father. Tonight I nursed him as we lit candles to remember his baby big sister. We sang a tearful happy birthday. We ate cake. We'll do this each year to celebrate her brief life. She did live, inside me, for 22 weeks. I felt her move. I fell in love. I miss her so.

33 weeks 5 days

I'm existing in a strange place these days. Truth be told, it's been a while now. I got pregnant, quite intentionally, about 6 1/2 weeks after we lost Chiara. There were many reasons: I'm 41, and time wasn't stopping for us, we really wanted to grow our family, and I was desperate to be pregnant again, to be making our way towards another child. It seemed the only way I would heal.

Now I'm 33 weeks 5 days, pregnant with a boy. I knew he'd be a boy, before we even started trying again. In some ways, it is easier. It clarifies things. In some ways, it is harder. This is likely our last child, and I have moments when that is fine and moments when the thought of not raising a daughter breaks my heart. Although it's not just about not having any daughter, it's about not having my daughter, who was here with me, who grew and moved inside me, who I delivered, who I loved.

Our boy is a mover and shaker and I am so grateful. It keeps me (somewhat) sane, feeling him, knowing he's still in there, heart still beating. Alive. All I want is to hear his first cry. I want to hear him announce himself to the world. We are so close, and sometimes I can imagine holding him, feeling his warmth on my chest. But I am still afraid. Part of being a babylost mom is knowing all the many ways that pregnancy can go wrong. There's a bad outcome for every week, every day. It's pretty terrifying. Even knowing that most babies do fine doesn't help. Statistics screwed us once, why not again? Sometimes I think, we're not special, not more or less lucky, and I feel OK. Sometimes I think that, and I think that we could end up with the short straw again. Just because we endured one loss doesn't protect us from another. Nothing will protect us. So I will prepare for this new babe, this second son, this third child. I will believe in him and trust that he has his own story, and that it is yet to be written.