It’s hard to find words strong enough to describe how I feel, what this means to me, and what I’m going through. I’m sure many of you will understand what I mean, and to others, I might seem crazy or simply misunderstood. Every time I see a round belly, hear happy news about someone else, or see pictures of childbirth or little babies, my heart sinks, a lump forms in my throat, and I have to wait a few minutes for things to feel normal again.
How are we supposed to feel on the day we realize we’ll never have little babies again, that we’ll never experience pregnancy again, that we’ll never have the chance to bring life into the world? For me, that’s exactly how it feels… a kind of longing, a jealousy at never again being able to carry life, at never again having the chance to fully experience childbirth, to feel good about my body, to be happy to have a rounded belly, to gently caress it while imagining that little being who will arrive one day, who will let out his first cry to tell us how alive he is and just how much he’ll be loved.
Having become pregnant for the third time after my son’s traumatic birth, I initially thought this pregnancy would make me more at ease, that I’d be able to better appreciate this blessing… Throughout this pregnancy, I was stressed and anxious about reliving the same ordeal. My mind was constantly racing, even though I knew these fears were, in a way, irrational… Even though I did everything I could to prepare for her arrival, I was unable to enjoy my pregnancy for fear of losing her or not making it to full term. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to fully experience it or enjoy it to the fullest. Maybe it was because of all that stress that my youngest decided to turn into a breech position (the little rascal) at 37 weeks of pregnancy. And despite natural attempts to get her to turn around, no technique was safe enough to make her do a somersault, since there was no amniotic fluid left. So Eve was also born by C-section, but fortunately, this one was planned. So I didn’t have to relive the same experience I had with my son... I was able to hold her against me as soon as they brought her out; I wasn’t alone in that cold, white room with the spotlights... My partner was by my side; they placed my daughter on me. I have a few photos of the two of us taken moments after she was born. I still feel a bit bitter about this sometimes—I would have so loved to have had her naturally; I wanted to experience the entire birth process so I could perhaps come to terms with the past.
I was just telling a friend who recently had a baby how lucky she was. When I heard myself say that, I found it funny (said sarcastically)... I already have three wonderful, healthy children—why did I say that? Fortunately, since she knows my story, she understood exactly what I meant. Time flies by; you don’t even notice it passing. We can’t go back to fix the past; we can only try to shape the present so that the future will be better. It’s very likely that my family is complete… unless a miracle—or something close to one—happens! So I try to pay attention to all the little details of their childhood—their innocence, their zest for life, and their unconditional love—so I don’t end up feeling bitter about what I might have done differently. This grief over not having more children is hard to come to terms with, even though, rationally, I tell myself I’m already lucky to have experienced this and to have three little wonders to tuck into bed every night. I love taking photos; I imagine this passion stems in part from that fear of forgetting... By capturing these moments, I’ll never be able to forget them.
Suzie