Aftermath

My own bodies enemy

The what if’s

It’s been a while y’all, welcome back. This entry is kind of unorganized and all over the place but I started typing an entry a few weeks ago and then just didn’t have anything to say and didn’t feel like posting a half finished entry. But without further adieu here are my thoughts from the past couple weeks.

June 11, 2022

It’s been eight weeks since the second worst day of my life. The first was finding out this would be our outcome. It truly feels like a lifetime ago that I gave birth to death and our worlds were flipped upside down, shook like a snow globe and put back on the shelf.

It’s been weird being back home and everyone gone. The house was filled with people, chatter and laugher. Now it’s just quiet. I have a morning routine where I open the spare bedroom door and blinds and then I walk to Oliver’s room and open his door and blinds. Prior to now, I would usually keep all the doors closed but now it feels like the walls are closing in on me. So, I open them. I never don’t have him on my mind but being in his room is so overwhelming. Seeing his things is a painful reminder. I don’t dare put any of it way. I don’t want to box up what’s left of him. I also don’t want mini shrines everywhere. But that is exactly what has happened. In our room, a shelf with his chicken, bear, candle and urn. Pictures surround it. In his room, all his stuffies from his cousins, letters from his Lola, rosary from his Tia abuela. It’s all there on his dresser.

They tell you to give your body time to heal and that most likely you won’t have a real period for months. Well–not my body. She decided to clean house and act like nothing happened 4 weeks to the day. I’ve heard from other moms how betrayed they felt by their body when they lost their baby. I was the opposite. I was so proud of mine. For getting pregnant so quickly. For an extremely mild pregnancy. And for the easiest labor. I mean–I didn’t even have to push. He effortlessly slipped right out. But now, now I hate her. I feel like every inch of me misses him every second of the day. Except her. She’s ready for a new resident. Out with the old and in with the new. I wanted more time, to justify in a way waiting to try again. My mind wants a baby so bad. But my heart and guilty conscience just feels like I’m replacing Oliver. Even though I know I’m not. It’s quite the mental struggle.

I started therapy. I’m not sure what I’m looking to get out of it. All I can think to ask is for the massive waves of sadness to stop. I don’t think that will ever happen. I have long streaks of good days and then a really bad day hits and it knocks me on my ass. I just want to know why? Why did this happen? Why did it have to happen to me? Our first baby. How can I move forward and try again without knowing this won’t happen again? I’ll never know.

June 20, 2022

Oliver’s due date was 6/22/2022. What would this week look like? Would I have been induced early and home with him? Would we be preparing to go in this week and welcoming you to the world? I struggled on whether we should have finished him room. I daydreamed for weeks on how it would have all come together. The saying “you’re never ready” is very true. But deep down in my soul I was so ready to have Oliver in our home. I was ready for that life shift. I wanted it so bad. I want it so bad. I knew 3 other expecting mothers who were due within days of our due date. They have all welcomed their boys. I feel so left out. I feel like I had to forfeit the race. A failure on the sidelines. I’m slightly embarrassed. I’m that girl. I’m the girl whose baby died. I am the elephant in the room. I will always wear that scarlet letter.

I want to strongly preface what I’m going to say next with I am very much aware I don’t know what it’s like and everyone is entitled to feel what they feel. Each and every time I hear someone say “they’re growing so fast, I wish they’d stop”. I immediately want to say no you don’t. You absolutely do not want your child to stop and miss all their milestones. My child has stopped. I will never know what his favorite color will be, which sport he would gravitate towards, his favorite school subject. Time stopped for us. I want to shake moms who complain daily about their kids. What I would give to have a sleepless night, to have my brutally quiet home filled with cries—hell, I’ll take getting peed on at this point! I’ll take every horrible night to just see him again. To hold him. To smell him. To have seen him alive. I’d give up every worldly possession. I’m so jealous of their innocence. To say things so recklessly and have no fear. If only they knew how very possible that could be. How they would live a horror story every single day. I wish I didn’t know this reality.

Happy Due Date, Oliver. I hope you know how wanted you were. How missed you are. How much you are loved.