Sometimes even good things hurt.
My husband always reminds me “perception is reality.” This is something I’ve thought about a lot. It helps me remember the world doesn’t
revolve around me. And it encourages me to not assume I understand how other people feel, or
why they do and say the things they do.
But it also helps me find peace in my anxiety, as I over-analyze and try
to apply my own experiences to someone else’s.
In the end, our experiences are our own, only our own- even when
shared. They are perceived through our
own lens- our own perspective. And they
become our truth.
I don’t know if you’re aware- but we’re in standing in
the middle of a very large, very pregnant, “Baby Wave”.
A “Baby Wave” is what many people call a period of time
when it seems like everyone and their mother, (forgive me…I couldn’t resist) is
pregnant and/or having babies. It’s
remarkable really. And it’s beautiful.
This phenomenon (I believe it’s phenomenal anyway) has the potential to
create an instant bond between women, as they symptom-swap and exchange battle
stories of past pregnancies. Then one by
one, they give birth to their beautiful little ones, and the cycle resets. Then all is calm, until the next wave.
“Don’t drink the water!” is a joke commonly heard during
these wave-times, exchanged between individuals who are not looking to join the
preggo-club for a variety of reasons.
It’s a happy time full of wonder, swollen bellies, and hope.
But there are some women- who aren’t making jokes. Who quietly smile on the sidelines through
the “Oh my gosh! When are you due?!” conversations. The women who would give anything to drink
the water, no matter how bitter the taste.
It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge that there can be pain even
in the most beautiful times. Especially
when that pain is selfish, and that pain is our own.
So, in the interest of being transparent, here is my
perception/reality:
(hold on folks- it’s going to be a long, bumpy ride! Go ahead and take your phone with you if you
need to take a potty break. I won’t judge.)
I was naïve, 21 years old,
and about to begin completing my three required internships to become an
elementary school teacher. (spoiler alert: I never actually ended up teaching
elementary school.) My husband and I didn’t have a real “plan”- but we’d been
married two years and deeply desired to start a family. Summer seemed ideal timing for a having a baby
within my teaching schedule. And so our
journey began!
“Aunt Flo” was late that very first month- and I took a test. It was
negative. I cried. A lot.
The next day I came home to flowers brightening our, tiny, dingy (seriously disgusting… but cheap) apartment; and my husband telling me he
would love me no matter what. My period
still hadn’t arrived, and he convinced me to take another test. I did so
grudgingly- and left it on the bathroom counter to process while I laid on the
couch in despair. (I wish I could say I
became less dramatic with age, but it would taste like a lie.)
The next thing I knew- my husband was whooping and
hollering for joy as he came bounding out of the bathroom to come shower me in
kisses. It was
positive! We were having
a baby! For the next
nine months, I felt like I was glowing.
I felt set-apart. I have never known as much joy as I did in then. There were a lot of tears, but
far more smiles, and I walked on clouds.
I was so proud- and
so excited.
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| Pregnant with our first baby! |
Four days past our due-date in June, we delivered our oldest- (a
boy!) via Cesarean Section at 9lbs 3oz. I hadn’t progressed, 0cm dilated 0% effaced-
without a single “real” contraction. He
was “sunny side up” (meaning his face was out toward the front of my belly
instead of back toward my spine) and his head was lodged in my pelvis making
progression unattainable.
I didn’t handle the C-section well. I was still only first-learning how to cope
with the anxiety/depression cocktail that is my mental health, and had an
anxiety attack on the operating table.
Technically, the surgery still went flawlessly, but emotionally, it sent
me spiraling into a depressive state. Because
of my sensitivities, I struggled with the juxtaposition of pain and numbness
that followed, and to hold my baby. At
times everything was dark, and I felt angry.
I was so tired. I was in so much
pain. And I just wanted it to end.
Eventually I began to heal, and feel like my old self-
but I was terrified to experience that feeling again.
The pain faded, and my desire for a baby outweighed my
fears. When I was 23 (working as a Middle School Science teacher) my
husband and I found ourselves planning for another baby! We were aiming for May to maximize the amount of time I would be able to spend with the baby. That first month I found myself in familiar
circumstances. My period was late, the
test was negative. I tried not to worry, because this had happened before, but the next day instead of flowers and a dance for joy like
my first pregnancy- I broke into a new box of feminine products.
I wasn’t pregnant.
I braced myself for the storm. There
were tears- but
I tried to put my circumstances into perspective. I realized it
wasn’t realistic to expect a positive pregnancy test right away. It was amazing that it happened the first
time with my oldest, but I needed to practice patience. I knew better than to assume things would always go 100% according to plan.
That particular lesson however was short-lived, as the following month found us reading two pink
lines and expecting another June baby!
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| Pregnant with baby number two! |
My second pregnancy was a little more difficult than the first. I felt
cautious. I was happy- but I was also
scared. Over the last two years I had
many friends who experienced miscarriages, birth defects, or other complications.
I felt convinced something was going to go
wrong. As the due-date came closer, I
began to feel a little more calm, but still anxious about what was going to happen. I walked and walked and walked, and two days
before his official “due date”- I delivered our second little boy, 7lbs 4 oz, with a flawless VBAC delivery. (Vaginal birth
after cesarean.)
It seemed my fears were unconfirmed, and I allowed myself to cling tightly to this new little life.
Two years later- I was feeling empowered after my positive
VBAC experience. I had been feeling strongly about having another baby, and
secretly hoping for a “surprise” pregnancy ever since my youngest self-weaned
at 8 months. I was just SO sure we had
another little one ready to join our family, and I couldn’t wait to meet
them. So at the comfortable age of 25, my
husband and I decided to aim for an April baby.
We joked that was how we would get another summer baby to compliment my teaching
schedule. (Since it took 1 month with our first baby, 2 months with our second
baby- it would probably take 3 months with our third baby, and we’d get all
three of them in June!)
We played it cool, but after the third month irrational worry
started to creep in. I kept my fears to
myself, because I knew with my anxiety I wasn’t being logical. But as time passed- I started to internally
panic, and it became harder to keep to myself.
I asked a few close friends and family members to pray for us, but still
no baby. I felt guilty for mourning each month. I felt I didn't have a real right to complain after having it "easy" with my first two. After 6 months we decided to
take a break. My niece had be diagnosed
with Morquio (MPS IV-A), and my husband was going to have some genetic testing
done before we continued trying to conceive. We couldn't afford IVF, so I was terrified a positive result would mean postponing having another baby indefinitely. Thankfully- his tests came back clear- so we resumed our baby-trying. Everything always seemed to work out just right for us. Except, no baby. I couldn't wrap my head around it.
I went to the doctor who ran some standard blood work,
but assured me I was young, and because we had two successful pregnancies
before “the plumbing worked”. I offered
an uncomfortable courtesy-laugh at his joke, but I didn’t feel like it was very
funny. He told me I shouldn’t be
concerned. It had been a year since we
started “trying” for baby #3, but because we had taken a short break- I didn’t
qualify for additional fertility tests, and he was confident I didn’t need
them. In fact, I was told that pursuing unnecessary tests could actually hurt my chances of conceiving so it was best to just keep trying and waiting. “Next time I see you, you’ll be
pregnant!” he told me. I smiled hesitantly
in my paper gown and waited for the room to clear so I could get dressed.
I was 26 by now.
And then I was 27.
I was struggling.
I watched the baby waves ebb and flow. I told myself to relax.
Everyone told me to relax.
- “You have two beautiful boys, be grateful for them.”
- “It will happen as soon as you stop trying.”
- “You haven’t been trying that long- just be patient.”
- “It will happen when you least expect it.”
- “I had real infertility, you’re not infertile.”
- “You’re so young, don’t rush it.”
- “It took us X amount of time to get pregnant, everyone is
different.”
- “Two is a good number.”
- “So many people have it much harder, they never have a
baby at all.”
- “Are you really trying? If you haven’t done XY&Z for
___ amount of time you’re not infertile, you’re just not trying hard enough.”
Truth blurred with doubt and I was miserable. I
began to spiral. I hated my job. I pushed my husband away. I felt like an awful and unworthy mother,
like I was neglecting the blessings I had been given by wishing for something
more. There was nothing physically wrong, so it had to all be in my head- which meant it was all my fault. I became angry with myself, frustrated at the cycle of worry I had both created & become trapped in. I tried to remind myself that my
children needed me. I told myself I was
being selfish. I pushed myself to
wake-up, get dressed, and do the things I was supposed to do. I all-but invested in stock for home
pregnancy tests, as month after month I peed on those stupid plastic sticks. I'd forgive them quickly though, always convinced I was just testing too early, or that next month would be different.
I went to the baby showers. I sat on the theoretical shore as a
supportive, smiling face, for the passing baby waves- but I quietly hid the
feeds of my pregnant Facebook friends.
Especially the ones who “Oh my gosh- we weren’t even trying!”
It wasn’t their fault.
After all- I’d been there. Both
our previous babies were meticulously planned, but they had come so
easily. It can be surprising (and even
scary!) when you get the news.
Surprising, scary, & exciting!
They wanted to share- and that was their right.
But here’s what I realized.
Here’s where I remember that “perception is reality.”
That same beautiful moment, from a single pregnancy
announcement, has been shared, copied, and even tainted. While the emotion of happiness surrounding
that experience is genuine & overwhelming, the ripples through perception
are not uniform. My lens of unfulfilled
dreams took my ripple of joy and welcoming for this new life, and laced it with
pain. The news was full of light, but also
shadows of bitterness.
These moments aren’t fair. But they are real. They are individual, and they are all valid.
In the beginning of 2016, I decided to quit my teaching job,
and work from home as a LuLaRoe consultant. I wanted something flexible & low-key so I
could focus on myself, and my little family. I joined a gym- and began making time for the
things I enjoyed. I was making
peace. At the time I was preoccupied
with the life-changes I was making, and to my surprise-
just as everyone
suggested of course-
I finally got pregnant! A year and a half since our journey’s start to baby
#3, but only one month after deciding to take this crazy leap of faith, we were
finally expecting!
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| My third pregnancy. My three year old was the photographer- hence the cropped head. |
“Expecting” is such an appropriate word for
pregnancy. Hopes and dreams are
immediately whirled into action as quickly as those two pink lines appeared on
the home pregnancy test. I had
expectations, and these particular expectations had been under construction for
a long time.
Unfortunately, the foundation wasn’t quite set. Our baby girl was diagnosed with Trisomy 18 (also known as Edwards Syndrome) and after 17 long, heart-wrenching weeks of pregnancy filled with tests, fear, and unanswered questions, we lost the
heartbeat. I delivered her tiny
unfinished body on my oldest son’s 5th birthday.
They say when you can talk about something without
crying, you’ve healed.
I’m not quite there yet, but it's happening slowly. I’d like to write a post someday about everything that miscarriage has
taught me, but not today.
That Fall, after a couple of familiar disappointing
months, we experienced a “chemical pregnancy”.
The pregnancy test was positive on a Monday, and I began bleeding on
Saturday. I had two LuLaRoe “pop-up” boutiques that day. In the morning I prayed it was some kind of
harmless spotting. I pushed through the
party, unwilling to believe that I could really be miscarrying again. But the bleeding didn't stop. I took a pregnancy test on my lunch
break, and it was negative, so I knew the pregnancy had not been viable
long. I smiled, and laughed and
complimented ladies as they tried on clothes that made them feel beautiful
while I was falling apart from the inside out.
Every loss is significant, but to me, it just felt like
one long, painful blur. This would have
been another summer baby.
It’s been almost 3 years since we first started trying
for baby number 3. Many of the ladies I
surfed the “baby waves” with during my first two pregnancies have since had
another little one. Many of them had the
sweetest most beautiful little girls. It's so strange to feel so happy for someone else while still feeling so sad for yourself. Sometimes I worry my sadness is blemishing their happiness, but I'd like to think it has the opposite effect. Seeing those little ones reminds me of hope- and that good things happen. It stings to watch with empty arms- but my heart still feels full. I scoop up my own little ones and hold them a little tighter.
This week I went to Walmart with my youngest to search for
some coordinating clothing for my men-folk because we had family pictures
coming up. I decided to do some light
grocery shopping while I was there, and I was in the bread aisle when the
modern marvels of technology delivered the news that another one of my friends
was pregnant by surprise, one of the friends who had two children the same ages
as mine, but also already had a gorgeous little girl since. I kept my composure
& continued shopping for about ten minutes before breaking down in front of
the Oreos.
The right thing is to say “Congratulations!” when
something good happens to someone else.
But what do you say when your heart aches, and the words feel
hollow? What do you do when their
something good is your nothing?
You sob in the middle of Walmart like a crazy
person while an old man awkwardly tries to get to the Nilla Wafers behind
you. You take a deep breath and let
yourself feel everything for just that moment.
You wipe your tears and realize that there’s an appropriate time and an
inappropriate time to share your heart.
You remember the times when good things have happened to you too. You remember life isn’t fair, and that’s
ok. You choose to make room for
happiness right beside the sadness in your heart. There’s room for both. You acknowledge that this is their moment,
and you will have your own turn in your own way to interpret those ripples and process your own residual experience. Even if it isn’t when, or how you thought it
would or “should” be.
You take courage, and find strength in the face of grief.
You say “Congratulations!”
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| My sweet boys playing at Grandma's house this weekend. |
