I expect a great deal from the person whose baby I lost. Aside from the absurdity of saying I lost a baby (as though I just misplaced it like a pair of sunglasses or a hairbrush or the remote) that’s a true thing to say. He got to be the first person to hear both that whilst I’d had the little thing just a moment ago really, I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I put it. Well, second actually. As soon as I realized I was feeling outright awful, terrible, snapped right down the middle, I sensibly looked into some brief, off the record type counseling.
I’ve never much cared for counseling, preferring to go to a friend and soothe my emotions over myself. It actually makes me feel worse most of the time.
But I didn’t want to go to my friends about this. I didn’t feel all that trusting of anybody. My body had messed up, rather clumsily and messily. I barely wanted to talk to the father (well not father anymore). I didn’t want to expect too much of him, or rely on him nigh completely. So I called up a help number.
And the lady on the phone told me I deserved it.
You see, I wasn’t going to keep the little one. I still don’t think I would. If I became pregnant again right now, I don’t think I could abort the second one. Not so soon. But eventually. Eventually I’d fall back into being able to do that. Eventually. And if I hadn’t lost the baby, I would have had an abortion by now and feeling funny about that instead of a miscarriage.
I’m very for the availability of abortions, and whilst I recognize it’s best if birth control is easy to get, and alternatives are provided, sometimes things happen. They happened to me. I’ve never felt more sure of how I’ve felt about abortion and choice and such, until I needed it. Until I was that unfortunate person whose birth control fails and she’s not emotionally up for a) carrying a baby to term, b) keeping it or c) giving it up because there’s a baby and I can’t keep it but I wouldn’t let go. I needed the choice, and I support it more than ever.
But then, a messy bathroom debacle later and a misplaced little one, I didn’t need it all of a sudden.
But I needed someone to start leading me through this, and I knew I was going to turn to him for that, and I have and he’s been there – he’s held me and rubbed my back and touched me and not touched me and played video games and watched movies and bought dinner and texted and called and told me how he feels and asked how I feel. Everything I ask of him, he offers, and even the things I can’t ask, he notices and gives.
But I didn’t want him to carry me completely. I can’t bear the thought of him being alone with me clinging to him, even though I need him. I want to be strong again – because I am very strong – but I’m not there just yet.
And the first help service I called, specifically to ease the weight on him, told me I deserved it because I was going to kill the little one. That “God” took my baby because I was a horrible, murderous mother.
I’m not religious.
I’m not a mother. I guess I’m sad I’m not. But I’m also relieved.
And I’m scared somebody else will tell me I deserved it. But I’m so scared of burdening him alone. And I know he’d be there and he’d do anything I needed him to do, and say whatever he has that’s best to say, including nothing at all. I know that, and I trust him for that.
But please don’t say I deserved it. I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t. Nobody does. Please let me know it’s safe to talk.