Thinking about Baby

The more I think about Baby, the more upset I get.  Isn’t it ridiculous?  After all, I didn’t know of Baby’s existence till after she* was already gone.  But still… Baby would have been my firstborn. 

I know some would suggest trying to not think about it.  But that’s impossible.  It’s not like it’s consuming ever second of my thoughts, but yes, it’s there, in my thoughts.  I can’t stop thinking about it.  I can’t stop thinking about how Baby will never be. 

Yes, maybe there will be another child in the future.  Maybe.  But it won’t be Baby.   
  

Will I think about her every year on the day she died?  A hard date to forget – the day after our anniversary.  Or will I forget about her eventually?  Will she lose importance, since she wasn’t planned for, wasn’t expected, wasn’t known?
 Will she be there when I have another child?  Will she be in my thoughts as I watch my child sleep? Will I always wonder if she would have been the same?  If she would have been quiet and calm?  Or maybe fussy and colicky?


I think that she’ll always be there – always. 
 
I understand so much more now, why it’s best to avoid platitudes and cliché sayings, such as “Well, you can always have another.”  Yes, you can have another baby.  That’s true.  But the key word is another.  It’ll never be Baby.  It’ll be Baby’s sibling. It’s reassuring at least that Baby is just gone.  She is not in heaven, because God is not cruel to strip a mother of her unborn child.  She is simply gone.  Perhaps that is meant to be reassuring?  A few websites mentioned that sometimes, early pregnancies end in miscarriage because of something being wrong with the baby.  An article on www.americanpregnancy.org stated that ‘the most common cause of miscarriage is chromosomal abnormality – meaning that something is not correct with the baby’s chromosomes.’


The articles say to keep the lines of communication open with family and friends.  I don’t want anyone to know.  I don’t want to deal with sympathy.  Or worse, for those who say, “But you didn’t know you were pregnant, so it’s not that big of a deal.”  Believe me, people are insensitive that way.  A knows, my mom knows, and my best friend/cousin knows.  That is it.  That is all who are going to know about this.  I do not feel the need to tell anyone else.  Talking does not make me feel better.  Writing does.  This is the way I grieve. 

Maybe one day, when the pain has dulled, I will be able to speak of Baby to others.  But I think I prefer to preserve her memory untarnished from the words and thoughts of others.

*Clearly, as it was very early in the pregnancy, I have no idea of whether Baby was going to be a boy or a girl, but writing he/she was driving me crazy and I refuse to refer to Baby as “it”, so she it is.

I’ve been reading about miscarriages.  Apparently mine is called a ‘chemical pregnancy’ because it was before the 5th week.  I’ve estimated that I was probably anywhere between a couple weeks to four weeks along.  Chemical pregnancies are common, and usually the mother doesn’t even know.  According to www.babyhopes.com ’50 to 60% of first pregnancies end in miscarriage very early in pregnancy.  Most occur without the woman even knowing she was pregnant.’  

 
Or, will she forever be there, in the dark recesses of my heart.  Will she hover there when I see newborns in the grocery store, or in the mall?  Will I feel this pain intensely in the fall, when she would have been born? 
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