(This post was originally posted on Wednesday 5/11, but got deleted some how. Sad. Thankfully a friend had saved it so now I am re-posting. (Thanks Laura!!!) I feel bad that previous comments got deleted. So, here it is again. I will post again soon, and hopefully won't be such a downer. ;)
Anyone know that song? Whenever it comes on the radio, I just blast and sing. The lyrics go something like, "Oh these times are hard, they're making me crazy...." And I could be wrong. It's happened before where I sing a song one way, but the actual lyrics are completely different than what I had been singing. In this case, I am very happy singing my version of the song, because THESE TIMES ARE HARD.
It's been 2 months and 4 days since we found out our baby didn't have a heartbeat. 2 months?! Could 2 months have really gone by? What's hard about time is my thoughts turn to, "Our baby should be 2 months more developed", or "I would be showing by now", or "The morning sickness would have been behind me". And what's even harder is the women I am surrounded by whose babies ARE developing healthily, who ARE showing, and who DO have morning sickness behind them.
It's the women at church who were chasing after their little ones at church on Mother's Day. The pregnant girls who were standing holding their tummies, glowing from happiness. Those women make the healing process so unbearably difficult at times. But what can be done about that? Absolutely nothing. I realize I sound completely selfish, but that is not my heart. My heart believes it's a joyous miracle for those other women. I would never want to take that away from them or wish them in the same position as me.
It's just the irony of their joy and their tummies are such a torturous REMINDER of the loss of our own baby. My arms absolutely ache to hold our baby. I can't even type that sentence without breaking down into tears. I didn't get a chance to hold our child, or to look into his or her face and kiss their cheeks. I didn't get to change their diapers or swaddle them in a cozy blanket. I didn't get to feed them or rock them to sleep. I didn't get to tell our baby HOW MUCH I LOVED HIM OR HER How much I still love. How much I will always love. I never got to say it to their little ears. And since I'm already weeping, I might as well just finish with a bang.
There was nothing I could do as a Mother to protect the life of my own baby. There was nothing I could do. Nothing. And that pain is something I know I will be familiar with for the rest of my life, and right now it's welcoming me to Motherhood in a very cruel way.
Anyone know that song? Whenever it comes on the radio, I just blast and sing. The lyrics go something like, "Oh these times are hard, they're making me crazy...." And I could be wrong. It's happened before where I sing a song one way, but the actual lyrics are completely different than what I had been singing. In this case, I am very happy singing my version of the song, because THESE TIMES ARE HARD.
It's been 2 months and 4 days since we found out our baby didn't have a heartbeat. 2 months?! Could 2 months have really gone by? What's hard about time is my thoughts turn to, "Our baby should be 2 months more developed", or "I would be showing by now", or "The morning sickness would have been behind me". And what's even harder is the women I am surrounded by whose babies ARE developing healthily, who ARE showing, and who DO have morning sickness behind them.
It's the women at church who were chasing after their little ones at church on Mother's Day. The pregnant girls who were standing holding their tummies, glowing from happiness. Those women make the healing process so unbearably difficult at times. But what can be done about that? Absolutely nothing. I realize I sound completely selfish, but that is not my heart. My heart believes it's a joyous miracle for those other women. I would never want to take that away from them or wish them in the same position as me.
It's just the irony of their joy and their tummies are such a torturous REMINDER of the loss of our own baby. My arms absolutely ache to hold our baby. I can't even type that sentence without breaking down into tears. I didn't get a chance to hold our child, or to look into his or her face and kiss their cheeks. I didn't get to change their diapers or swaddle them in a cozy blanket. I didn't get to feed them or rock them to sleep. I didn't get to tell our baby HOW MUCH I LOVED HIM OR HER How much I still love. How much I will always love. I never got to say it to their little ears. And since I'm already weeping, I might as well just finish with a bang.
There was nothing I could do as a Mother to protect the life of my own baby. There was nothing I could do. Nothing. And that pain is something I know I will be familiar with for the rest of my life, and right now it's welcoming me to Motherhood in a very cruel way.
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Laura Siegrist
Kristy