Dear Alien,
Where do I start? This is part of my effort to stay positive and visualize a life with you. I want you to one day read these so you know just how badly your father and I wanted you. One day, when you are hating us for loving you, I want this to show you just much we do love you. Or, perhaps, one day, you will go through this struggle and I will watch from afar, frustrated that I can do nothing but empathize with your plight and assure you that one day, you will have a baby...much like my own mother does for me on a near-daily basis.
Kids were not part of my plan. Neither was marriage. I was, in my own mind, fiercely independent, career loving and focused. When your father came along, he snuck into my heart through the guise of friendship and when it came time for him to ask me to marry him, there was no easier decision that I had ever made. It's been nearly 2 years and with the exception of a handful of annoying habbits (such as running the dishwasher half-empty) I have loved every minute of our marriage.
Your father was as ambivalent about children as I was. Your cousins, when born, changed my world. They brought happiness back to my family that had longed for joy since my father died. They employed my sister in the role she was meant to excel in. They were the first creatures that I had pure, unabashed love for and they could and still do melt my heart every time I hear TIC yelled either on the phone or in person. However, despite all that, their births and subsequent presence in my life did not immediately change my mind about children. One day, in Dec. of 2014, I had a conversation with my aunt about children. She simply asked, "how could two people who love their families as much as you and Stephen not want to have children". That was it. MIND. BLOWN. My whole world was rocked. I knew I had to have a sit down conversation with your father and tell him that everything I had thought, was wrong. He came home from a boys' weekend, I forgot where, hungover and tired. He walked in the house and after nervously kissing him hello, I told him we needed to talk. I repeated what my aunt had said, just as a ways to ease him into this rough sea of a conversation about the future. He thought about it for a minute and agreed. That was the extent of our baby conversation. We spent more time agonizing over whether or not to adopt a puppy than having a child.
That was it. We went on with our lives, checking in with each other periodically about timing the "trying process" over the summer, starting prenatals, when to go off the pill, etc. We bought a house and I started a new job in March - a job that propelled me into the next stage of my career that I worked so hard for. Then, while we were in the process of closing and I was in NY to start my new job, we found out that David and Lynsey and Chris and Candice were expecting about 3 weeks apart from each other. I won't say this completely sped up our timeline, but it did intrigue us into wondering what it would be like if it happened for us. This led us to being purposely irresponsible in May, which resulted in 2 positive pregnancy tests the morning we cleaned our apartment for the last time to be inspected and start our new life in our new house.
The two months I was pregnant filled me with more questions and doubt than I had ever experienced. I truly felt as if an alien had taken up residence in my body and made me worry about everything I did to it. We told our families and a few close friends. Everyone was overjoyed. I had a nagging suspicion that something was wrong and this was too easy. After experiencing the battle my father waged with brain cancer and his subsequent death, I tend to take the more pragmatic approach to good news. And at about 8 weeks, when my exhaustion seemed to disappear overnight, I knew this pregnancy was not meant to be. Our second ultrasound, a few days later ,confirmed my fears.
I don't think I can accurately put into words how I felt. Yes, I had not really allowed myself to rejoice and start the excited planning that a baby brings about. Yet various auspices that come along with a pregnancy had began to penetrate the hard cocoon of protection I form around myself. Things like thinking of D names to honor my beloved father. Or calculating how many months apart the baby would be from all my pregnant friends, especially David and Lynsey. David and I had started our friendship around age 12 and pretty much done everything together since so it was super special to me that our kids would be about 5 months apart. A perfect recipe to top the longevity that our own friendship had boasted. And those little rays of hope were stripped away by an ultrasound technician's worried frown lines appearing as she searched inside me to find evidence of life and then confirmed by those words I will never forget as she turned off the machine . "There is no heartbeat".
After the calls were made and the news was broken and the surgery to remove the physical evidence that we had attempted to build a family, I did what I have always done. I straightened up my sagging shoulders, plastered a smile on my face and appeared to publicly move on. The concerned looks and head tilts of sympathy that I had grown so accustomed to when my father died reappeared. So did my nightmares of that time. I was again, forced into the role of unicorn. Our friends tiptoed around me, especially those that were pregnant. I was reminded of when I first moved out here and my roommates at the time bought father's day cards while we were out grocery shopping. They had tried to hide them from me until we had gotten to the register. I remember not feeling angry or grateful but more so challenged that they thought this yearly tradition what break me. Or that they needed to protect me. The same emotion came with this and I dived deeper into their pregnancies - planning baby showers, finding gifts, counting down the months with eager anticipation. With everything external I did for someone else, I was that much further along in proving how alright I was.
Your father, grandmother and aunt knew the truth. I could hide the majority of the world just how broken I was, but not from those people. And I was broken...am broken. It's been nearly a year since that positive pregnancy test. This year has brought along several more early-stage miscarriages. A surgery that removed a blocking fibroid. The kids that I refer to as your cousins whom I hope will pave the way for you in so many ways as well as provide you with hand-me-downs. Countless pregnancy tests. Dozens of lines spotted and dozens more blank screens. Ovulation sticks. Ultrasounds. Bloodwork...so much bloodwork. Painful tests with catheters. A fertility doctor and a regular OB. Pills. Vitamins. More google searches than appropriate for a work computer. And now this. My open love letter to the alien that I wanted more than anything in the world. This is my vision board as well as my labor of love. I'm writing this with the confidence that one day you will read it. Which means not only did I successfully create and birth you, but I also managed to teach you to read.
I love you,
mom
No comments:
Post a Comment