I'm joking that, having done the newborn thing before, at least we're not naive enough to look forward to it. Of course it will be wonderful to meet our daughter. But I hear myself saying "I'm ready to be done with this insomnia . . . " Oops. I know what challenges are to come. But I know other things too -- like my baby won't die from a sloppy nail clipping. I know more about my own strength. That I can survive on less sleep and fewer meals than I'd like to. I have a two year old who likes to say, "I a baby bird. I love you, Mommy Bird!" So I'm starting to understand why I have children in the first place.
The cancer thing is getting hard to ignore again. When I got diagnosed during my first trimester, I was consumed by the urgency -- one doctor after another telling me I'd need an immediate hysterectomy, regardless of whether anyone was living in my uterus. Then the tumor was safely removed, and I was consumed by relief. And it was easy to forget how serious it is. So I've spent most of this year complacently enjoying my time at home and planning for the new baby.
My anxiety crops up unexpectedly. Hearing the question "when are you due?" when I have a planned surgery date (which I'd otherwise fight tooth and nail). Listening silently while other moms talk about breastfeeding challenges and birth control (there's not a whole lot out there on nursing under the shadow of surgically-induced hormonal arrest). Definitively sorting maternity and baby clothes because I know this will be our last child. I don't fit in with most pregnancy discourse, and it makes me nervous.
Last week we met with the surgeon who described the details of the procedure -- the "dissections," the incision, the transfusion risk, the bladder complications. Nothing too unexpected. I still found myself dizzy and choking back tears. Could this really be about me?
I want to focus on the positive: the healthy, beautiful baby girl who will be joining our family in a matter of days. But I don't want to ignore the pain and loss. It's inevitable to lose one's sense of self with a newborn around. And when that self is physically or emotionally injured, ignoring it doesn't help. Survivors of birth trauma can find it impossible to admit any regret or suffering about their baby's delivery. Our culture tells us to pick between grief and love -- as if caring about birth is a self-indulgence that we could overcome if we only appreciate our children enough. As if we must judge our feelings instead of listening to them. At least I know better now.
I want to focus on the positive: the healthy, beautiful baby girl who will be joining our family in a matter of days. But I don't want to ignore the pain and loss. It's inevitable to lose one's sense of self with a newborn around. And when that self is physically or emotionally injured, ignoring it doesn't help. Survivors of birth trauma can find it impossible to admit any regret or suffering about their baby's delivery. Our culture tells us to pick between grief and love -- as if caring about birth is a self-indulgence that we could overcome if we only appreciate our children enough. As if we must judge our feelings instead of listening to them. At least I know better now.
I'm listening.
