I'm at that point at the end of my pregnancy where all of the questions start flowing in.
The questions from unsuspecting individuals who feel like they understand but don't "quite" get it.
I have come to terms that I just give people the answers that they want to hear and move on with my life because if I were to actually answer all the questions "Any baby news yet? Are you excited? How are you feeling?" It would legitimately take me days and I am just too exhausted.
If you are one of these people don't feel bad, I am happy that you don't understand.
So, very happy.
This is what lingers on the inside behind the short or non-existent responses:
Every exciting thing about this pregnancy has been stripped of me. I continually watch other pregnant women and families who have never had to experience the detrimental effects of child loss in envy. I feel anger boil inside of me as I view others nonchalantly living in their pregnancy bubbles all glowy and unsuspecting...but more than anger, I feel sadness.
Sadness because I was that girl, I was that girl last year, glowing, happy, excited...until...I wasn't.
Throughout that ten months I never once thought about the inevitable, because no one talked about it, no one told me that my baby could die.
Sometimes I want to tell people things like "yes, it will be the best time of your life, IF you get to bring your baby home. Sadly it's not guaranteed." -I think this way because... I wish someone had shook me out of that fucking bubble for even a second just so I could have been prepared in the slightest for what it would feel like to walk out of that hospital with a box instead of my baby.I think this way because I want to protect the unsuspecting.
But the thing is... even if someone had shook me... nothing could have prepared me because I was in the "it won't happen to me stage." Everyone tells you once you are past the 12 week mark you are safe, when you are at 24 weeks your baby could be viable, when you are at 37 your baby is fully developed and would be 100% fine in the outside world...but no one tells you that your baby could and can in fact die at 39 weeks, 40 weeks, 41 weeks.
No one talks about stillbirth, miscarriage, infant loss or "fetal demise" as my charts often read.
No one tells you that after losing a baby:
That none of your future pregnancies will ever be the same.
No one tells you that you will be stripped of all the feel good vibes.
No one tells you that you won't want to buy anything for your baby for fear that all of the "stuff" will surround you- without the presence of the baby it was meant for.
No one tells you that you will suffer from severe insomnia, exhaustion, anxiousness and irritability.
No one tells you that every single time you have an appointment you will hold your breath completely expecting to hear the words "I'm so sorry."
No one tells you that you will have best friends that give birth while you are enduring your pregnancy after loss and you won't be able to bring yourself to meet those babies until you once again have one in your arms... because their babies have already hit more milestones in their short lives than the baby you are missing... ever will. And the pain of that is literally unbearable, so you love them from afar.
No one tells you that you will be terrified to bring the cradle into the house, or that you will dread washing baby clothes.
No one tells you that you will procrastinate sewing your babies blanket that you so carefully picked out fabric for... because the last blanket you sewed for one of your children got cremated with her lifeless body.
No one tells you that when packing your babies hospital bag that you will have equal thoughts of what to bring your baby home in as you will about what you would want to bury your baby in.
No one tells you that the forty weeks of pregnancy that you are currently about to endure will be like a constant battle of deja vu in hell.
No one tells you that you will have to explain to 4875638745634 different people that this is not your first pregnancy, that this is your third and when asked how many children you have at home... that you will have to say "one" and then explain your story to each and every person... multiple times a week.
No one tells you that it will come to a point where you can actually put yourself in a place where you can recite your story with no emotion or expression on your face. You can literally learn to detach from all emotions... de humanize.
No one tells you that your pregnancy plans could and will be 100% opposite of the natural birth experience you always intended on and more like a science experiment.
No one tells you that when people ask you questions about when you're due, babies arrival and if there is any news, that you could literally tell them down to the hour that you will be induced and that there is nothing exciting about it... that you feel less like a goddess and more like a lab rat. You are the mom that gave birth to a lifeless baby last year and now aren't scared of birth or death. You feel un-fuckwithable. You aren't scared of the pain of labouring because you know that you have already felt the worst possible pain in the world and it's untouchable.
I am a mom of loss and I will tell you this... Most of the time, I feel nothing, because while I am hopeful...I know that life is not promised. I know that while I track every fetal movement, attend every doctors appointment and do all the things I am supposed too that my baby COULD still die. So next time you are curious about how I am doing, if there is any progress, if I'm excited etc. the answer is: I am hopeful but I'm not excited.
I lay in bed awake at night and think about all of the above. I am thankful to you for asking but if I give you a short response or don't answer at all... it is not because I want you on the outside it's just because letting you on the inside is exhausting. I am exhausted, I am done with being pregnant and I can guarantee you I am more impatient than you are...but just know I am thanking you.
Thanking you for the love.
Thanking you for the positive vibes.
Thanking you for thinking of me.
Thanking you for holding me together.
This is me.
Me on "the inside."
ps. the countdown is on and I am "hopeful".