Tuesday, October 11, 2011


Last night as my dad was going up to bed, iPad in hand, he asked me the web address of my blog. Realizing that I had mostly written about sex in that day's post, I hesitated, then finally offered a disclaimer: It's really personal!

I began to wonder if this blog should or should not be my public diary. And I also questioned whether I should go on about NAWP when the blog is supposed to be about baby Blue. But let's be honest, this blog is about ME! That's what every blog is about, the blogger. And that's the whole point. Here is where I will say what I need to say, and though I will try to be tasteful when discussing TMI-inducing subjects, I just might offend my dad. And embarrass myself.


Many babyloss mamas have their older children. Many have their husbands, and with them a hope of getting pregnant again soon. Many have loving husbands, though I suspect many experience the same double-loss that I have, losing the baby and the relationship too. I don't know if it's harder for other people. I only know what is harder for me. It is harder to not know, to not have any sort of idea, when I will be in the relationship where we're having a baby together. It is harder to be in the home of my parents, rather than in the arms of my boyfriend, who wouldn't be NAWP but would be the loving, supportive variety of boyfriend. It is harder to not know if this accidental pregnancy was some fluke of fertility and maybe I will never have another pregnancy. It is harder to not know if perhaps there was some complication from the procedure and I have lost my fertility. It is harder to be part of the babyloss community, and to now know of all the possible things that can go wrong in a pregnancy. Until I deliver a healthy, living baby, it will be harder to live without that baby. 


Back to the subject. I want my experience to maybe, possibly, help someone else through a similar experience. I have a cousin who is a much better talker than listener, so I was surprised when she offered this insight: You may find someone whose circumstances were just the same, but her experience will not be the same, because you are different people.

That is true, and I take comfort in it, but still I seek a woman just like me. NAWP and I broke up about six weeks after Blue's death. And those were six difficult weeks. There were times when he held me, when he made dinner, when he let me cry, when we talked. But I cannot forget the times he turned his back, literally, on my tears. When he couldn't stand to be near me. When he used his "angry voice," a way of speaking so filled with venom that my reaction was visceral.

This loss on top of loss is part of my experience, and if it is your experience, too, well here I am. I want to help. So maybe I am sharing too much, but none of us should feel alone, more alone than we already feel. And when your bottom drops out, when your boyfriend or husband or partner in his or her own way disappears, this is what it feels like.

It is more like loss on top of loss on top of loss: hope fades too. I will never find someone. If I can have my baby, I will have the baby alone anyway, and it will be expensive. I will be pitied. And no one will remember I almost had it another way. I almost had Blue.

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