Fragments, 3

December 29, 2012

Dear Baby,

There is much to share with you. There is much to do and teach you.

I was once told, that having a child would be as slim as winning the lottery. I believed it. I believed it because for a long time, nothing would happen. I wouldn’t get pregnant.

I went to the doctors and they told me my body had issues, that my body had been deformed. They found problems in my body that they could tell me about but they could not tell with precision how or why they happened, those deformities. Bacterial infections. The human body doing what it does. I was not discouraged and tried in vitro-fertilization twice, spending lots of money only to think about how that money might have been used in a different way. Eventually I did get pregnant, three times without the aid of modern doctors and their interventions. But after all the sleepless nights of nightmares, ovulation kit and pregnancy test disappointments, miscarriages and self-worth pondering, over a period of more than 15 years, you are the first to come along this far.

I didn’t have to or want to cry when I first saw the image of you on the black and white screen in the ultrasound room, the tears just came. I saw and heard your heart beat and it was more powerful than I could have ever imagined. It was not what I had expected. It was unknown to me.

Until I first saw the image of you, I continued in disbelief. The beauty of the season’s first falling snow, as your father and I walked back to our car to drive home, added to the surreal feelings of motherhood. I returned home that day, sat at the kitchen table, cried, and cried, and cried. Our doctor said that you were doing well and congratulated us. The doctor was especially intrigued about my story and asked for copies of any records I had about my fertility history. I forwarded what I could to him.

~9 Weeks

Confirming words from the doctor and your image and your heartbeat gave me the realization of you. Worried thoughts inside of me became euphoric emotions of warmth, a new experience, a new reality.

It used to be that I would attend baby showers and try to not think about having my own. It seemed impossible and was better if not thought about. I would buy baby gifts for people and want some for me. I would buy an outfit or two, some toys, or a blanket, with all of their cuteness, and then give the items away later. What did I need those items for? All four harvested and transferred embryos did not latch on, they did not survive. The three pregnancies miscarried. They were all taken, for reasons that I do not know.

It used to be that I would have baby names ready for a budding baby, but the opportunity to use any would be lost. Each time around with each pregnancy, I would have new names prepared. They are all just memories now, the names and could have been babies.

It used to be that I would wonder if that day would come, if I would ever have a child of my own. For some people, there is no hurry. Having a baby can come to them as easy as preparing or ordering a meal. For some people, birth control pills are taken religiously because they have had one too many children. For some people, a child is not a part of any dream. In the beginning, I was not in a hurry. But after a while, I became curious when pregnancy was not happening and contraceptives were not being used. After extensive testing, I was told that my fallopian tubes were abnormal, that one of them had to be removed and that the best way to conceive was through in vitro-fertilization. And then I conceived, against the odds, after the two failed embryo transfers. But the babies didn’t make it, none of them. I had to learn to accept. I had to accept how things happened.

These days, at 17 weeks and progressing, I waddle a bit when I walk with my proud and prominent protruding belly. I am spotting and always have to line my panty with a guard but the doctor and nurses say it is nothing to worry about. They tell me that the spotting will go away eventually. I am always just at home, doing my best to protect you. If only all of my close friends and family can see me and how you are changing me, physically and mentally. If only my mother could properly see me.

These days, I listen and feel for your soft movements within me, little flutters that validate you even more. Just when I had accepted, at age 34, that I would only live to see bright beautiful children being raised by others, I am given the gift of you.

I cannot wait until June. I cannot wait to take you home. I cannot wait to hold you and watch you sleep. I cannot wait for your eyes to meet mine.