A number of the blogs that I visit, would, at first glance seem to be an odd fit. As I am married and have two children, one might assume that I’d hang with the mommy bloggers. And while some of them are awesome (see links on side bar), I don’t feel like I fit in over there with all of them. While I love my life fiercely, gushing about my children (no matter how fantastic I believe them to be) is not the way I roll.
Mostly, it’s because I am a realist.
I’m no longer naive enough to believe that a positive pregnancy test equates a bouncing bundle of baby, so I spent up until about 37 weeks into my pregnancy looking for signs of a miscarriage when I had Alex (Ben, too, truth be told). I went into my ultrasound quaking in the knees not because I was nervous that I’d be stuck with another boy, but because I was worried that the baby whose kicks I had grown so fond of, would not have a brain. Or an equally fatal flaw. When my labor was induced, I needed the Zofran prior to the first contraction not because I was nauseous about my choices in nursery decor, but because I was afraid he would die in labor.
You see, despite my circumstances in life, I know what can go wrong. All too well.
I’ve helped mothers birth their still babies, worked with them in dressing them in teeny clothes, and memorize their every curve before they had to say goodbye. For good. I’ve carried this incredible love, and this unimaginable tragedy with me everywhere I go, just as they carry it with them.
I’ve held the hands of mothers and fathers who have come to have “the remaining products of conception” removed from their bodies (what a shitty fucking clinical term that is. I hate it. Passionately), and wept with them, too.
A long time ago, I accepted that the Universe was not always a fair place to be, and that things such as “just,” “deserve,” and “fair” don’t apply to everyone. Most of the time, I can deal with it. I try not to think too much about it, lest I get swallowed up into a pit of despair, never to emerge again. Other days, I rage against it, shaking my fists at the sky while I weep for someone else (or myself).
Today is one of those days.
Please, go visit Alexa, who is in dire need of some love. I don’t know her in real life (just as I don’t know many of you), but she is mourning the loss of one of her children, and she needs all of the love that The Internet can muster. Sometimes the kindness and love from relative strangers can relieve a small fraction of pain during this horrible situation.