She Brings Joy

After losing Beatrix, listening to other parents complain about their children was impossible. In my head I would scream, "at least you have a child to be complaining about.... be grateful for what you have!"

Over the last five years this feeling has mellowed a bit. I can acknowledge that complaining about a baby crying all night, or a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, doesn't mean a parent is ungrateful. It's normal. As I let go of judging other parents for being normal, however, I didn't let go of judging myself.

The expectations I've maintained for myself have been astronomically high. If M (Rainbow Baby) cries.... instead of looking to an outside source for her dismay, I look inward: what did I do wrong?

Over the last few years I have repeatedly convinced myself that I was unworthy of my children. My older children don't call home daily because I ruined their childhood. My teenager is ready to run-away at a moments notice because I don't give him unfettered access to computer games.

I have lived in abject terror of my terrible parenting being discovered. Of losing my children.

Yesterday, I gave up on motherhood. It was 4 pm, and I had just had enough.

M has spent the last week whining about everything, and has developed a very nasty temper. Her brother is making the change from boy to man, and he challenges me at every turn.

All I wanted was some peace. So I gave up. I put my M in her pajamas, sat her on the sofa, and logged her onto Netflix. I logged onto the PC and added more time for video games.

For the first time yesterday, the house was quiet. It was peaceful.

There's a small part of me that feels like a failure whenever I turn a screen on. As a parent in general we see so much information about the dangers of screen time.

As a loss parent, I feel as if the totally normal action of taking a "time-out" is unacceptable. I'm supposed to be on my knees in gratitude 24/7, because I know what its like to lose a child. I know better than to be angry, frustrated, or just plain bored of being a mom. I'm not allowed to have any negative feelings towards my children.

I'm supposed to have a supernatural, saint-like connection to them

I think there are many post-loss parents who feel the same way. Like they aren't allowed to have a bad parenting day, because they've had the worst parenting day imaginable, and they know how "worse than a screaming toddler" feels.

Child loss occasionally holds you hostage this way: because of the historical way child-loss has been clinically treated (grief as a mental illness if it lasts longer than 6 weeks), and the way loss-moms are portrayed in the media (evidently we all want to kidnap your babies, go on mass violence rampages, or commit suicide), we don't have a lot of guidelines regarding what's "normal".

Is it ok that I'm angry at my toddler?

Is it ok that I want go out for a while, and be away from the kids?

Is it ok that they're driving me crazy and I don't really like them right now?

I think it is.

I don't think we're supposed to be groveling at the feet of grief forever.

I don't think being annoyed with your living child means anything more than you are a normal human being.

There's a lot to be said for how people change after a traumatic event. I believe people do grow from negative experiences, and I know that the growth can be positive in nature.

I know that loss can sometimes be a catalyst for beautiful things.

I also believe there is an enormous pressure to be "better" after you've suffered deeply. But sometimes we have terrible days. Even when awful things have happened.

Trauma doesn't make you noble, and it certainly doesn't make you perfect.



So yesterday?

That day when I gave up on motherhood at 4pm?

That day was just one day in thousands I will live, caring for my children -- loving them to distraction, and just because my baby died doesn't mean I have the patience and wisdom to be "on" all the time. Losing her didn't make me superhuman, and it most assuredly didn't change my make-up to the extent that I'm living in a constant state of mindfulness.

And that's ok.

I'm allowed to give up on motherhood occasionally. It doesn't mean I'm ungrateful or I don't appreciate the gifts I've been given: it just means I'm human.







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We would like to announce to the world, that we are expecting another child. So far, things are going well. We have passed all tests with flying colors and the doctor has said that he anticipates no problems.


This, of course, means absolutely nothing to me.


Unfortunately, in my crowd, I have a special knowledge of every conceivable thing that could go wrong. I know about super babies who were so ridiculously healthy that mom had not a care in the world, until that baby was born lifeless. I know about the girl who was born, went home, and then died five days after at her mother’s breast- she had an undetected heart defect.

I know about the SIDS babies who die in the months following a perfectly healthy pregnancy and delivery.

I know about car accidents and pool accidents and accidents too terrible to talk about.

I am especially fearful of everything. The air we breathe causes concern, as it could be contaminated with some toxic fumes or fungus spores. I am frightened of undiagnosed illnesses and un-immunized children (even though we follow a very minimal vaccine schedule for our kids…)

I am frightened of malformation and toxic chemicals and shampoo with formaldehyde in it.

I was frightened of ectopic pregnancy until the doctor did an ultrasound to make sure that the baby was properly located in my uterus- Irrationally perhaps, after loss- I truthfully don’t know how I would handle having to purposely remove a baby growing in the wrong place….. the devastation would be too much for me, I’m afraid.

I am frightened of the next few months, and becoming big and ungainly and vulnerable. I don’t want to travel alone- you see the stories in the news…. Those women who like to steal babies out of their mother’s wombs.

I do not want to be so fearful. I suppose that it is some form of post-traumatic stress disorder. I suppose that I could see a doctor who would prescribe me with some “safe” medication that would calm me down and mitigate my fears. But that would require me taking in a substance that could possible interfere with proper fetal formation.

I could do yoga or get a massage. But if my joints pop out of place, or I stretch the wrong muscle, or I am rubbed the wrong way that could cause preterm labor. And that would be bad.

I want to be happy.

My husband is happy. He whispers sweet nothings to this tiny being and I want to say, “Where have you been for the last two years? Don’t you remember what happened? Don’t you remember that BABIES DIE?”

Who is this man? Where did he come from, this person who can so blithely look at the child birthing experience and say, “everything will be fine- you’ll see.”

I want to purchase something online, and not think “at least I’ll have a tiny little something to remember this baby by, if things don’t go well.” I want to stop planning what I will do when (not if) things go wrong. Because they inevitably will go wrong. I want to be honest when I tell my other children that things will be ok. That yes, this baby will live.

My 9 year old told me that he doesn’t have any room for another bear in his bed, if this baby died too. We were sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant. I wonder what the people at the next table thought of us and our dark-minded child.

I am tired of fearfulness. But I cannot be any other way- if I don’t guard my heart, than I will be disappointed again, and I will be devastated and I won’t know what to do with all of this hopefulness I could be sprouting.

My paranoia is a problem. I am too careful of everything, and my fear translates into stagnation and distrust. I won’t eat soft cheeses or tuna fish and I don’t clean the bathrooms any longer- because of both the chemical and biological toxins involved.

If this is a girl, I should call her Deirdre- “fearful or brokenhearted.”

The worst part- the fear itself makes me worry about things. Am I being so fearful that I’ll have a nervous, pre-term baby? Will my child be shy (if I have a child), and rigid in his/her being? Will stress cause the child to spontaneously combust in my womb?

I don’t know what to make of all of this, or how I will make it through the next few months of carrying the baby burden. I wish that this pregnancy thing could be done under sedation. I could sleep away the days like a bear in hibernation and wake up surprised at the baby in my arms. I could be in a dreamless sleep where I can’t begin the task of imagining all of the things which could go wrong.

I wish I was the fearless girl I once was, who took on challenges and overcame things. Now I am just a sad, frightened pregnant woman in the process of growing a baby who may or may not be birthed in a heightened state of anxiety.

I wish I could be normal again.