In my life

Earlier this week, I was writing an email to a woman I met in the pregnancy loss group who lost her daughter to stillbirth last year, and as soon as I pressed send, I saw an email in my inbox from someone inviting me to join a betting pool for the time and sex of the birth of their child. I was livid. Apparently, this is a thing people do. I googled it expecting there to be rants and screeds about how insensitive this practice is, but no, there are websites devoted to "baby betting pool." I can't even imagine the rage that a person who'd lost a full-term baby would feel hearing about someone betting on their child's birth. How about I bet on whether or not I'll miscarry a third time? Or whether my baby will have genetic abnormalities? Or whether I'll have a stillbirth? Or whether my baby will be born with a grave illness or birth defect? Anybody want to take bets on that? I suppose it's a way to get other people "involved" in your child's appearance without actually fostering meaningful emotional connection with others and your family. But regardless, the hubris is astonishing. The aura of invincibility; the insensitivity to how, at least for others, a childbirth would be precious and miraculous and not a time for betting--people like me who've had recurrent miscarriages, or people suffering infertility, or people who have watched their children die.

I feel fine today, just fine; only a slight tickle of maybe nausea; not that tired. For the past few week I've been going to bed at like 8pm; I've felt absolutely woozy with tiredness. I feel so afraid. My baby was healthy and growing on track on Monday; heart beating away, growth measuring on target; what if it has died already? Unlike before hearing the heartbeat, now I have waves of fear, rather than sheer panic, but still, they're there. Going through a missed miscarriage is a really horrible thing.

My thoughts turn to 9 days from now, to the next scan--will the baby have survived? Will we hear "I have bad news, there's no heartbeat" again? And what about after that? I've been googling prenatal testing instead of working this morning: I guess I'm glad I'm 35, because I can get the new, extremely accurate and extremely early test for genetic disorders. What if, like a friend of mine, we find out that our baby has a severe disorder? What if I have to have an abortion? This woman I know had such a terrible time trying to find answers, and the genetic counselors did all kinds of obfuscating, and then she had to face the fact that we live in a horrible state that gives you such a short window to make a decision on a pregnancy, it was awful. Just so you know, in case you're a judgmental asshole, the fetus, it turned out, had severe defects incompatible with life. What if that happens to us? And what about stillbirth? I have so many risk factors for stillbirth. It's my first child. I'm over 35. I've had trouble conceiving. What if I don't get enough screening? What if I'm not vigilant enough? What if my baby dies inside of me, at a much, much later stage in pregnancy than before? I have so little trust. The fact that healthy babies are ever born seems almost impossible given all the things that can go wrong that I now know from direct witnesses. Such a miracle. Do I really deserve such a miracle? Or is my life one that is going to be marked out for suffering when it comes to children? (Well, I've already suffered). I just talked to a coworker yesterday who shared that his wife had three miscarriages before having their first of two healthy children. There are other success stories, I know.

The older sister of this baby whose birth is being betted on said on her first day of school that when she grew up, she wanted to be "A Mommy." Like her own mother presumably, who doesn't work outside the home. Who has had lots of children much younger than me. And now this little girl is being raised with the idea that "A Mommy" is a profession, something separate from doing what her father does or what I do for a living. Or a scientist or an astronaut or a social worker or a teacher or a business person or a pirate or a ship captain or a magician or a lawyer or a programmer or a princess. It hits my own insecurities. I want a different path from my family of origin. I want to be in touch with my feelings, to refuse to accept or excuse abuse, to have real love and security in my life rather than only the appearance of it. So I've separated from "Mommy" that way. And I always knew that I wanted motherhood to enrich my life, not define it. I want MFP to be as much a co-parent as me. Yet I see myself struggle with motherhood, and I wonder, maybe I chose something other than "Mommy." And the truth is, I did. But I had hope, that I could have a mind, a life outside the home, an equal partnership AND a child. I've sought my models for family outside my own family, and even though I've found lots of them, it's always hard, for anyone who tries to do something different, to not let those first examples of relationships speak the loudest.

The fact that I'm even thinking about motherhood, about what kind of family environment I want to raise my baby in, is an achievement. We invited some hope into our lives after we heard that heartbeat. My therapist said to me this week that I just have to decide whether I believe this is true: "I have to have a relationship with an extended family in order to have a happy life." Do I believe that for my child? No. I have to start thinking about what kind of messages I want to raise my baby among. Do I want my child to stay faithful to the appearance of love rather than the feeling and the practice of it? Do I want my child to maintain relationships just because they think they're supposed to and they're afraid of disappointing people, rather than because they are meaningful and fulfilling? Basically, do I want to raise my child to be vulnerable to abuse or to be secure enough in themselves to seek out love and safety? And maybe even to speak out against it and protect others, even when it's unpopular? That's a no-brainer. Except it's hard not to hear the guilt of my first messages, which definitely said "family is more important than self or safety or good feelings or the truth or anything or anyone else" both implicitly and explicitly.

What I'm trying to say is I'm loving my baby already. I love him or her. I have a firm place in my heart, in my home, in my life, and in my body where my child can go, and I'm working on making that even firmer. It's a powerful thing to tell someone, I have loved you since you were an idea. And my child, if creation-willing, she arrives, will know I love him that way. At night we started singing to the little embryo. I wanted to take some time to attach to it each day. What lullaby would I sing? I didn't know what, but then "In My Life" came out. I imagine singing this to my little embryo, my fetus, and then my newborn. Then maybe my toddler, both MFP and I curled up with him as we put her to bed. And I'll say, I sang this to you when you were only a centimeter big. Maybe my newborn will recognize my voice when I hold her or him in my arms. I should be so lucky. Knock on wood. B'sha'ah tovah. It does help me feel some emotions about this pregnancy besides fear though.

There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

In my life I love you more