A blog about babies: the babies I lost, the babies I never had, the baby who made me a Mama.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Maybe Next Time; or, Revisiting the Past

I'm sad today.

I wasn't a few hours ago. Then I was busy, writing a few articles for my freelance job, thinking about starting to work on the paper I'm delivering at the conference next week (I'm so anxious about it I'm procrastinating something awful), and checking out some favorite sites online.

And it's not like I didn't know what date today was: October 20th, right? It's not like I didn't know what date yesterday was: I was staring at the big October 19th on my lesson plan all day as I taught. But I managed to forget that last year on October 19th I saw this and wrote this.

Until suddenly I remembered. Who knows what shook that thought loose? But now it's all I can think of: how happy--ecstatic--I was this day last year, how exhilarated and content and certain I had found my happy ending.

Right now, I miss the lost hope and joy of those days as much as I miss the baby I thought we were going to have. Those weeks of happy hopefulness feel like a story I read or a movie I sat through--perhaps they happened to me, but I'm not convinced of it. I'm so sorry for that joyful girl, knowing that she will soon suffer so cruelly. I'm sorry for myself, that the intervening year has ground me down inside to sand, with nothing left to give but endurance.

I don't have that kind of hope any longer. The hope I have is objective and detached. My doctor says I'll get pregnant soon, so I choose to believe she's right. Statistically, I know that I'm likely to have another pregnancy, one day or other. Pragmatically, I know that this situation will resolve itself eventually. I won't always be waiting, however the waiting may end.

But speaking of hope emotionally, those butterflies of excitement and certainty and trust that This is the Time! and Now is the Day! are gone. I know that this month didn't work. My body is telling me so. Maybe my heart is, too.

And I'm sad as well that I have to know this. That I know what it was like to be pregnant and what it is like to not be pregnant and that I can tell the difference. Or if I can't tell the difference, then I'm sad that my self-protective pessimism was so often on-target it ceased to be protective and just became true.

The time I was pregnant passed so slowly and I lived through a lifetime's worth of emotional highs and lows in it. But in reality, it was brief--3 short weeks of knowing I was pregnant and then it was over. I expect those weeks will shock me with their quickness on this side of the continuum. Which is okay. Fast or short, they don't change anything.

These days, three weeks just gets me closer to flipping another calendar page and making a different month the focus of my "Maybe next time" mantras.


  1. Hugs

    These milestones are so hard. I found out I was pregnant on my Father-in-law's birthday and now I am so sad that day, even though I try not to be.

    I too had only 3 weeks of knowing I was pregnant. The best three weeks of my whole life. I feel the exact same way that you do. My point is, you are not alone.

  2. I am sorry you are dealing with this anniversary, and am thinking of you... when do you find out?

  3. ((((hugs)))) Slopie. I am thinking of you.

  4. I'm sorry. My anniversary of finding out is coming up, too......it's hard to believe it's been a year already.

  5. Im so sorry, these "anniversaries" are just crap, there's no two ways about it. I hope you find some solace in knowing that there is hope for a brighter future for you. x

  6. I love reading your blog posts... they are so thoughtful and emotionally touching. I am holding you in my thoughts as I know these days will be long gone at some point, but for the time being, we wait...and wait.

  7. Even the happy anniversaries are hard, if you know what follows.
    Thinking of you.

  8. beta is soon?? thinking of you and hoping that the anniversary brings good news to somewhat make up for last year. xoxo.

  9. Oh, C, I wish I could give you a huge hug (and pour you a glass of wine--screw you 2ww!) right now. Anniversaries such as this are so, so tough. I am praying so hard for you that first time's a charm for you and you will have those same wonderful thoughts and feelings you had last year at this time. You may not have any more hope but we all do for you. And sometimes that's all you need :). xo

  10. Ouch, my heart just hurts for you. These anniversaries are so hard as all those emotions flood back and the realization of how much time has passed. Good things are coming for you, Slopie.

    Sending hugs.

  11. So sorry SS, these anniversaries are just the worst. But I agree that good things are coming your way...tons of hugs and love to you.

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  13. That was one amazing day. I really did read your post about 20 times that day-- I was giddy with excitement for you. I hate that this is the place that you are in today.

    There is another amazing day in your future, I'm sure of it. One that will have the happiest of endings...and while it won't be the only anniversary that matters, it will be the most important.

    I love you, friend.

  14. So sorry Sloper, I can only imagine how hard these days are for you. I really believe good things are headed your way.

  15. It's such a heavy, terrible knowledge to carry. I'm sorry, Sloper. I know exactly what you mean. I think about myself (that self who started out on this road with such hope and, well, innocence) and I feel sorry for her.

    But just like your perspective has changed from then to now, I also believe that your perspective will change again, once you are happily on the other side of this. It won't erase it. But here's hoping that we can look back at these selves with empathy and understanding, and be glad that we weren't here forever.