I went to the nursery today and found a baby there.
This would be a GREAT story if the nursery was of the baby variety and the baby was mine to take home. Alas, I was shopping for plants and the baby belonged to someone else.
It was teeny tiny. Seriously, so new I'm surprised the umbilical cord wasn't still attached.
And they followed me wherever I went.
It's funny how this stuff can still take your breath away - the tiny mewling of a newborn, the unmistakable paunch of a newly emptied tummy, the fresh glow of love and happiness on the face of a mom holding her child.
And I just wanted to get away from it.
I'm still in my happy place, I swear. The magnificent shift in the universe that I felt yesterday is still a reality to me. Honest. I'm good. It's all good.
But it doesn't mean that I can't be gutted at the site of a swaddled newborn in a place I'd least expect it.
And no, they didn't really follow me wherever I went - it just felt like it for a few minutes.
To punish this intrusion into my otherwise perfectly peaceful day, I steadfastly refused to look at them (save for the few furtive glances I snuck when I thought they weren't looking). I just needed not to look at them, the mom, the dad and their little sweet one. I needed them to know that not everyone was interested in cooing over their baby. I needed to pretend that they were no more interesting than anyone else wandering through the endless rows of begonias and geraniums.
Yeah. I'm going to hell. I know all this sounds horrible. Unthinkable. But the truth is, this is the kind of horrible, unthinkable stuff that sometimes rattles around in the head of someone who has lost a child. And someone who can't seem to get pregnant again no matter what she tries. This is what it's like inside the head of someone so far out on the fringe of fertility and motherhood she might as well be in Siberia.
This is self pity, paranoia, anger and sorrow at its ugly best. I'm not proud of it (in fact I'm not even sure why I'm admitting to it) but there it is.
But really, I AM okay.
8 comments:
I completely understand how you can be taken back by a moment like you described, and yet still be "okay." Those kinds of encounters will sting for a long time (maybe forever, I don't know yet), even after you bring a baby home, and yet you will still be okay. It's a strange reality to explain, but I understand.
I pray this turn toward hope, and a new lightness, goes on and on for you.
Actually, since I live in my head and no one else knows what goes on in there, it doesn't really sound horrible at all. Because if you ever heard my inner dialogue, well, THEN you would be horrified. Refusal to look in their direction? Not bad, not bad at all!
I still feel that way. I can't look at other babies. Or if I do, I feel such an overwhelming surge of jealousy towards the parents it is almost blinding. Which is a weird reaction when I have my 3 1/2 month old strapped to my chest. But there you have it.
And I am happy, too, I really am.
So, I understand where you are coming from with the happiness mixed with the breathtaking sorrow. Before, I had no idea that a person could exist in both of those planes at the same time.
I really understand where you're coming from.... and it's not horrible. x
I agree with all above.
It's not horrible at all, or at least I'm going to say it's not because I certainly do the same thing. It hurts unbelievably to be innocently out in public and faced with what we wanted so much, and so deserved. It makes you feel so desperately lonely.
((((HUGS))))
I don't think it's self pity, paranoia or anger, just sorrow.
I'm okay too but...
I STILL feel the same way. Yes, I have a five year old. Silly, I know but old habits die hard. Just an infertility (or an; I should have MY baby in MY arms) side effect.
Still, we're okay :)
Not horrible. Not unthinkable.
And I do understand how you can be both shaken to the core and OK. Hoping the shift in the universe is permanent.
I HATE when it hits me at a time I least expect it. Who would think of a little infant out getting plants? Not me. Not that they shouldn't be there, I just don't associate the two. Will there ever be a time it doesn't sting? Does it become so ingrained in us that we always feel it?
You think you're horrible for feeling this way? Hardly.
You ache and hurt, like so many of us with empty arms do. You miss your son. And, you long for another.
That vulnerable, tender spot on your soul will always be there. It's awful that moments like yours in the nursery as so difficult and confusing. And, they're just not fair. = (
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