Tuesday, 5 March 2013

No Apologies

Being raised a spiritual person, I was raised to believe that I should look for lessons in daily life and signs that the Universe is pushing me towards something better. Seven months ago I lost my baby, Jack, because of hospital negligence. Two weeks ago I had an early miscarriage, as I had before I got pregnant with Jack. Now at two miscarriages and a late loss, for the first time in my life I'm unable to muster the generosity of spirit so characteristic of me in my former life. I have friends who think I'm okay now because it's easier for them if they don't have to speak with me about it, aquaintances, many of whom are parents, who haven't bothered to get in touch while they fuss over other aquantences who have been blesses with new babies, social network contacts who convince themselves and want to remind everyone that parenthood represents the apex of spiritual enlightenment and fulfullment, and a mother - a midwife of all things - who thinks I should manage to be happy for other people (because that's how the old me would operate and because that's how I was raised). The other day, I felt the Universe was trying to push me towards something, and I am pissed off about it. All of these 'messages' from the Universe occurred in one day and it was all too much. Last night I wrote scrambled prose, for myself and for you, girl who understands. You know who you are.

 For All That Happened Today With No Apologies

No, I didn't want to hold him on the bus while you adjusted his stroller and talked about how difficult it was having no free hands. I don't know you and you don't know me, or the fact that I should be holding my own baby right now. I'm sure such an idea wouldn't have occurred to you before asking this stranger to hold your baby.

It wouldn't occur to you because you don't know what difficult is.

No it isn't so great, it was luck. You were a 50 year old virgin last year and this year you're suddenly a father. I've taken many years of risks and opened my heart enough to plan and concieve my baby. I didn't live like a sexual eunuch who suddenly grew a pair, lucked up, and popped one out on the first try. People who haven't bothered to mutter one condolence my way are stepping up to congratulate you on becoming a parent as if you've achieved anything other than being lucky.

So no, I don't think it's so great.

No, our situations are not the same. You complain about the insensitivity of others and your biological clock before mentioning your other two surviving children to a person who has no surviving children and is six years older than you.

You're insensitive.

No, not all of us can identify with the mushy quotes and slogans superimposed over dreamy stock photos of parents and their children that you keep posting online. Not everyone accidentally gets knocked up and then later becomes philosophical about the joys of parenthood. We planned our baby and wished him into existence, but didn't get to keep him.

Ponder being philosophical about that.

No, I haven't moved on yet. You try going through this and see how quickly you move on.

No I'm not yet ready to be a matron; the auntie who couldn't have her own so she's content to coo over the preciousness of everyone else's. I'm still fighting to become a mother again.

No, Universe, today I can't be grateful.

No, Universe, today I can't be happy for them.

And you can't make me.

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