Dear Baby,
I’m in a weird mood right now. It’s about the roller coaster, and being stuck for so long on the top.
Let me start off by saying that I feel good. I’ve been in an upswing ever since I started processing my friend’s miscarriage. That rocked me pretty hard, but I recovered fairly quickly in the grand scheme of things. I’m so used to being in a deep, dark place for much longer, but that wasn’t the case this time. Her loss affected me, greatly, but it didn’t bury me. And I’ve been getting better ever since, which has put me in this weird mood.
I’m not used to being this happy. I’m not used to going days – weeks, now – without crawling into a hole and weeping for hours. I’m not used to actually wanting to go out and do things with your daddy and my friends. I’m not used to hearing of pregnancies and seeing baby pictures and experiencing more joy and happiness, less jealously and pain.
But this is where I am. I’ve gotten stronger, and while that should be a good thing…I feel like I’m waiting for the coaster to drop again. I’m waiting for the fall.
Because I always fall. This ride has been a huge part of my life for years, and I’ve never been at the top for this long. And every time – countless times – I’ve been at the top, I’ve always fallen. Lately, the peaks have gotten higher and the valleys lower, and every time I’ve fallen, it’s gotten harder to pull myself out. And that’s got me worried.
Am I setting myself up for a fall? Am I not allowed to heal, not allowed to enjoy where I am in life? Am I not allowed to be happy if you’re not with us? There is a certain guilt that comes with this happiness. With being content.
I played with your little cousin this past weekend. He’s about nine months old and cute as a button. I was making silly noises and goofy faces, and he was giggling and trying to grab my tongue. It was the first time I’ve played with him, ever, that I didn’t end up crying and missing you. I was just able to enjoy my little nephew, my birthday buddy, and not be sad.
Which, of course, confused me. When did playing with him stop being so hard? Am I actually getting better, or am I not missing you as much as I have in the past? Am I allowed to play with a baby and not weep? Playing with a baby and being happy shouldn’t make me feel guilty, but here I am.
And then something magical happened, and that guilt once again reared its ugly head. My dear friend at work is about six months pregnant, and she and I were talking in my office earlier this week. She put her hand to her belly because her little boy was wiggling around, and I put my hand on her tummy and he kicked me.
I felt him move.
And I burst out laughing. A genuine, exhilarating, wonderful laugh. I’d felt my friend’s baby move inside of her, and everything was perfect and beautiful and right in the world. No tears of sadness, just pure joy at the wonder of life.
It was only after she had left my office that my coaster dipped just a bit. It didn’t drop, but I sat alone in my office and wondered why I was so happy feeling another baby move. That little stab of guilt started poking at me. How could I be so happy and excited feeling another child kick inside of someone else? I wondered if I’d ever feel you kick inside of me.
And right there, I knew I would. I have to. Our turn is coming, baby. And I hope you turn somersaults inside of me.
Maybe that’s why I’ve felt so good lately. Because you must be getting close. I feel closer to you than ever before. But even still, this long period of happiness scares me. What if we go through all of this – again – and we find perfect donor eggs and pay for them and we get perfect little embryos and then we still don’t find you? What then? I don’t know if I’d ever claw my way out of that valley.
I’m almost expecting the plunge. And the longer I’m up here at the top of this peak, the more terrifying the drop. It’s exactly like a thrill ride, only not nearly as fun. I’m at the top, right before it tips downhill and my stomach leaps into my throat.
Or like watching a horror movie. The protagonist is creeping around, and then the music drifts away and all the sound effects die off, and we’re sitting there in silence and we know there’s a big scare coming. Something awful is about to happen to our hero, but all we can do is sit and maybe cover our eyes and wait for it. I feel like I’m about to get blindsided.
I really, really don’t want to fall again. I want off of this ride. Then you and I can hop on the teacups at Disneyland, and twirl around together for the rest of our lives. I’d like that.
Loving you so much today,
Mom
My Stork Got Lost 