Disconnected

Another baby was born this week, healthy and alive. To put it bluntly, this shit sucks. People around me have continued to go to have happy, healthy pregnancies and babies. Some even at the same hospital where Stella & Joy were born sleeping. I’m still angry, still bitter, still resentful. It’s not their fault, they deserve their healthy babies, but so did I! Don’t get me wrong, I am beyond thrilled for the families who get to take their babies home, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Even as my pregnancy progresses and this baby is growing and moving and doing great, I find myself struggling to connect. I struggle to bond with this baby. Every time I sit in a doctor’s office, I have already mentally prepared for those five words, “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat.” I have accepted that fate as my own. Again.

Sometimes I catch myself dreaming about the future. Making plans. Talking about “this time next year…” and “when the baby’s here…”. I try to remind myself that I can’t plan that far ahead. Statistically speaking, I only have ~3% chance of anything bad happening by this point in my pregnancy. But I was that minuscule percent last time. I want nothing more than to connect with this baby and to be fully invested, but past experience is keeping me from letting my guard down.

I love this baby. Really, I do. But disconnection is my natural defense mechanism at this point. From time to time I sit in my glider in the nursery-to-be and read out loud. I’m doing the best I can, but this isn’t easy. 

As the first trimester draws to a close, I can only hope for the best. I can hope for a happy, healthy baby. I can hope for an uncomplicated pregnancy. I can hope for the bond to grow, for me to be less disconnected.