February 28, 2013 at 10:44 am | Posted in Choosing Happiness., Crazy Talk (aka: Therapy), Heartbreak | 9 Comments

It was a random thought that struck me yesterday.

If I had stayed pregnant, I’d be close to hitting my third trimester.

I don’t know why it came as such a surprise – the idea that I’d still be pregnant. Maybe because I feel like so much has changed since the D&E. Maybe because being pregnant was only a couple of weeks, and months have passed since then. Maybe because I have no hope of having another baby left. I don’t know.

What I do know is the emotion: I was surprised to think that if things had been different, I’d be pregnant. I’d be feeling our son or daughter move around inside me. (I’d probably be uncomfortable and tired and short on patience and achy, too.)

It’s interesting; my grief seems to ebb and flow with my cycle. Each month when I get AF, I’m struck by the passage of time. Another month gone by; a reminder that there’s no hope left of things being different than they are now.

I know, it sounds morbid and depressing and awful. And on CD 1 and 2, it IS enough to make me ache.

But honestly, the idea of being pregnant seems so foreign to me. It was a long time ago – 5 years now – where I was pregnant with Lucky.

And yes, I’ve been pregnant twice since then, but never for more than a few weeks.

It’s just different somehow, now. I’ve stopped planning for the next baby. I’ve given away most of my maternity clothes and Lucky’s baby and toddler clothing. I’ve donated all of my own clothes which are now 3-4 sizes too big, whereas before I used to hold onto it, you know, just in case.

I can’t imagine my life being different than it is today.

And where most of the time I am used to this reality – the idea that this IS our family, there’s no real hope of having more children – it’s hard those first few days of a new cycle. For some reason, whenever I’m about to get AF, I dream of babies; in them my heart is full with thankfulness that my deepest wish has been granted. On those nights, I grieve when my alarm wakes me and I realize, it was only a dream, Serenity.

Ebbing and flowing, the grief comes and goes.

And my therapist tells me that it’s possible to be happy, overall, even while grieving. Always, when she says it, I wonder how it is possible.

But I’m curious to see if it’s possible for me to feel that way someday.

Because the one thought that has popped into my head recently, too, is this idea. Maybe I’m supposed to find fulfillment elsewhere. Maybe I’m not meant to have more than one child. My nieces, my nephews, my friends’ daughters and sons – they’re all part of my life.

So maybe, for me to heal, the definition of ‘my family’ needs to change.



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  1. No that is a powerful post in so many ways. And for what it’s worth, I still get the occassion twig every time AF shows. I just think it’s a cruel reminder of how much we had to give of ourselves. But then I look at MG – and you at Lucky – and it hits us like a ton of bricks how we would do it all again to get our incredible kids.

    • Oh fart – that first word should be “now”, not no. Duh!! I need more coffee.

  2. I can tell you it is DEFINITELY possible to be happy over all while still grieving. That is my day to day life.

    • Cece – I think of you every time my therapist says it. You are what gives me hope that it’s possible. đŸ™‚

  3. Hello!!! I just nominated you for the Liebster Award Keep up your amazing posts. Check it out here

  4. I think that when one has done a number of cycles, thereby reinforcing ones infertility and the connection of the arrival of AF to the start of a cycle and therefore the hope that that brings, a connection is formed in one’s psyche, like a Pavlovian response, to the arrival of AF. If you believe that, then you can understand how it could be an autonomic response (and almost PTSD response). Be gentle with yourself.

  5. Dreaming of babies…I do the same thing. I have these super vivid dreams where I’m having a baby (sometimes twins) and everything is perfect…totally perfect. And I feel so grateful for another chance, for a dream come true…except that it’s just a dream, without the “come true” part. My heart broke for you as I read this. Sending you well wishes for peace and joy and dreams that really do come true.

  6. Serenity- I’ve only just given up the battle to conceive another child, and when I consider how I’m feeling right now, in the early stages of the grieving process, I know you have come a long, long way. The fact that you can even consider that maybe fulfillment will come in another form is a wonderful sign that you’re starting to move forward. Stay strong- you will get there. We both will.

  7. This is one time when I’m grateful for having PCOS, because I don’t get that monthly reminder of what I’m failing to do (although I’m sure there are all sorts of other health repercussions as a result).

    I think even the ability to imagine that you could redefine your notion of family, and find meaning elsewhere than in your much-wanted second child, is a testament to how much healing you’ve already done.

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