I'm 5 months and 7 days today. And not a lot of people know that we're pregnant again except for my mother-in-law, a neighbor (who happen to guess it from afar) and our healthcare providers.
I was thinking of writing something on Kai's blog to let fellow BLMs know, but I'm still thinking of how to go about it. For me, subsequent pregnancy after loss is no longer a happy announcement waiting to be blurted out excitedly. The innocent belief that one gets to give birth to a live baby after nine months of gestating is no longer part of my vocabulary.
There's no giddiness or excitement, only fear, dread and temporary relief. I was relieved that I was able to get pregnant again. It's one 'battle' won. But of course, it doesn't mean the 'war' is over. The long stretch of waiting, hoping, praying that this time around we get to bring home a living child is my constant companion. Not to mention being plagued by the sum of all fears: the thought of having another loss.
So you see, this pregnancy is a whole different experience for me. While I'm so glad and so thankful that my husband and I were able to conceive TLB (so very thankful he continues to grow and thrive...as of this writing), I can't help but try to feel somewhat detached, somewhat guarded. I don't let myself think too far ahead anymore like things after the pregnancy or when the baby comes. There are even times the word, 'if,' almost always preluded my thoughts, words and actions.
But I'm working hard to not let that state-of-mind fill my days. I want to give this little guy the full love and attention that his big brother had. He will know that he is loved and wanted. He may feel that I get sad or cry sometimes, but I will try to celebrate him and his every milestone as best I could. And thank goodness, my husband is not such a worrywart as I am. He balances me out by being hopeful, joyful and excited for this pregnancy.
Still, I cringe when I hear or read the word, "Congratulations!" I remember my mother-in-law sent us an email with such a word on the subject line (complete with exclamation points ad infinitum) when Dave told her after our 12-week mark. She went on saying that Kai will always be the first-born and that we will never forget him "but having another baby will help to heal those wounds somewhat."
Then proceeded to ask for my help editing her writing project about "The Dozen Things to Consider When You're pregnant" or "Preparing for Baby's Arrival." (Did I mention she's a postpartum doula hence the pregnancy/baby-related project?) *insert a deep, deep sigh here*
I decided not to email her back on that one. Yet. Just thinking of a reply and putting them into 'polite' words would only stress me out and give me a massive headache, I thought. And at 12 weeks or so, I was still a puking, always-head-pounding mess. Heck, I even had to get acupuncture treatments sitting up since lying down only induced light-headedness and nausea. So I don't regret not emailing back.
Now I don't know about the fact that having another baby would heal the wounds of grief over my firstborn's death. I haven't reached that point yet. I'm only at 'having another baby' stage. I don't know what the outcome will be on this one. I'm fervently hoping and praying that it would be a different one, a good one, but being a BLM, I've accepted that no one really knows.
I know other baby loss moms who had their rainbow babies have mentioned this kind of healing. And I read it in their writing and see it in the photos they post on their blogs. Reading their own experience gives me a bit of hope. Perhaps, I'll get to experience that healing, too, if I'll be 'lucky' enough to join their ranks. (Notice that 'if' again.)
But having my mother-in-law include that sentiment in her email makes me wonder. How does she know? She didn't lose a baby. How can she back that statement up? Did she read it somewhere? Or does she believe that another baby could replace the one who was lost? And this thought makes me think about how my family and friends would react when I tell them about this subsequent pregnancy.
So I'm hesitant. Part of me wants to share this news so they could be happy for us and pray for us and yet another part of me wants to just keep quiet over the whole thing and wait until we REALLY have some good news to share. Top this off with the worry that they would think: "Ah finally. They can move on with their lives and get over Kai."
To my family and some friends, the notion of still grieving and already having a living child don't jive. "Why still grieve when you already have another child?" "Be thankful, this happened. Now time to move on." In my ideal world, they would just be happy without saying anything insensitive toward the way I grieve. But I know that's impossible. (Or it could be possible, considering how some of them fell silent [and still remain silent to this day] when we announced what happened to our first-born son.)
Anyway, I'm still on the fence about telling them or other people we know. Maybe one day I'll be ready to share this news with a few, worthy people. As for the rest, I don't know. I'm teetering on a fine line between not caring if they don't know and giving them the benefit of a doubt by letting them know. Either way, I truly doubt they would care one way or the other given that they have their own sh!t in life to think of (in which I can relate and be forgiving about since I, too, sometimes have to deal with my own sh!t and couldn't be bothered with theirs).
As I've seen through my grief journey, there are people who are unwilling to abide by us or even acknowledge our grief (probably due to one reason or another), so I'm not particularly in a hurry to share with them any news about our life. I simply feel that keeping them informed isn't one of my priorities anymore.
Then proceeded to ask for my help editing her writing project about "The Dozen Things to Consider When You're pregnant" or "Preparing for Baby's Arrival." (Did I mention she's a postpartum doula hence the pregnancy/baby-related project?) *insert a deep, deep sigh here*
I decided not to email her back on that one. Yet. Just thinking of a reply and putting them into 'polite' words would only stress me out and give me a massive headache, I thought. And at 12 weeks or so, I was still a puking, always-head-pounding mess. Heck, I even had to get acupuncture treatments sitting up since lying down only induced light-headedness and nausea. So I don't regret not emailing back.
Now I don't know about the fact that having another baby would heal the wounds of grief over my firstborn's death. I haven't reached that point yet. I'm only at 'having another baby' stage. I don't know what the outcome will be on this one. I'm fervently hoping and praying that it would be a different one, a good one, but being a BLM, I've accepted that no one really knows.
I know other baby loss moms who had their rainbow babies have mentioned this kind of healing. And I read it in their writing and see it in the photos they post on their blogs. Reading their own experience gives me a bit of hope. Perhaps, I'll get to experience that healing, too, if I'll be 'lucky' enough to join their ranks. (Notice that 'if' again.)
But having my mother-in-law include that sentiment in her email makes me wonder. How does she know? She didn't lose a baby. How can she back that statement up? Did she read it somewhere? Or does she believe that another baby could replace the one who was lost? And this thought makes me think about how my family and friends would react when I tell them about this subsequent pregnancy.
So I'm hesitant. Part of me wants to share this news so they could be happy for us and pray for us and yet another part of me wants to just keep quiet over the whole thing and wait until we REALLY have some good news to share. Top this off with the worry that they would think: "Ah finally. They can move on with their lives and get over Kai."
To my family and some friends, the notion of still grieving and already having a living child don't jive. "Why still grieve when you already have another child?" "Be thankful, this happened. Now time to move on." In my ideal world, they would just be happy without saying anything insensitive toward the way I grieve. But I know that's impossible. (Or it could be possible, considering how some of them fell silent [and still remain silent to this day] when we announced what happened to our first-born son.)
Anyway, I'm still on the fence about telling them or other people we know. Maybe one day I'll be ready to share this news with a few, worthy people. As for the rest, I don't know. I'm teetering on a fine line between not caring if they don't know and giving them the benefit of a doubt by letting them know. Either way, I truly doubt they would care one way or the other given that they have their own sh!t in life to think of (in which I can relate and be forgiving about since I, too, sometimes have to deal with my own sh!t and couldn't be bothered with theirs).
As I've seen through my grief journey, there are people who are unwilling to abide by us or even acknowledge our grief (probably due to one reason or another), so I'm not particularly in a hurry to share with them any news about our life. I simply feel that keeping them informed isn't one of my priorities anymore.
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