I have a complicated relationship with Facebook. I fought it for the longest time, but finally gave in about a year ago (thanks, Sue). Grew to enjoy reconnecting with high school & college friends, seeing where they are now, who they married, and of course, the kid status. Ah yes, the kid status is where the “complicated” part comes in… It’s like picking a scab or chewing on a cuticle — you know it’s going to make it sore, but you just can’t stop yourself.
Facebook is the favorite place for those who have never experienced pregnancy loss, those for whom pregnancy unequivocally equals baby. They update their statuses with abandon, broadcasting pregnancies at 12, 8, and even as early as 5 weeks, with never a thought of what their update would have to be to untell the masses. They use their status updates to talk about morning sickness, baby bumps, feeling fat, maternity clothes, ultrasounds, the big gender reveal…. oh my, there’s no limit to where the Facebook status can go these days. I still fume when I think about this little gem a few months ago. And my personal favorite? The ultrasound picture as profile pic. Yep, love it — the way the ultrasound pic pops up every single freaking time they comment or update or breathe weird or do anything that puts them on the news feed.
There is a certain arrogance, almost a smugness (and I use this word carefully because I don’t want to imply malicious intent where I know there is none) that comes with the naivete of someone who has never lost a baby. Those who aren’t members of the deadbabymama club feel such a freedom to spread the good news because they really do believe that they’re impervious to the sheer anguish that comes with a failed pregnancy. There’s an innocence, with pure, untouched joy and excitement that’s untempered by the loss and fear of past experience.
How I wish I could unring the bell and go back to being one of those joyful, undamaged women.
I found a beautifully written blog today called “Rebuilding Myself“… I hope that the author won’t mind me sharing this excerpt:
Among these women I feel as though I have found a home, a place where pregnancy is not all fun and games, where we don’t talk about “when the baby is born” as fact, a place where fear is as real as the intense joy.
As my husband and I have started down the road towards another child, I have realized just how much I have changed. I desperately want the end product – a baby in my arms – but I am now terrified of the journey. I no longer get excited about maternity clothes or baby shopping, I can’t image someone asking “when are you due?” again. I used to think a baby bump meant you were safe, I now know that is never the case.
Sometimes it is nearly enough to stop trying, the thought of being back in a place like November is too horrifying to dwell on. I can’t imagine having to hold another child in my arms that will not be coming home.
And yet, we continue forward, propelled by our desire, fueled by love, terrified to death. We have taken the leap, and as much as I sometimes want to, we will not turn back. And so I turn to this place for comfort, just to hear that I am not alone … there are others on this same strange and frightening journey I am travelling on.