It’s been almost two years since I found out that my second pregnancy was no longer viable. That day has been really tough for me to face, remembering how I almost landed my butt in a mental hospital only a few weeks afterwards.
The other day, I was putting things away in the pantry and I came upon a box I’d forgotten I’d stashed way, way in the back. It was full of little granny squares I’d crocheted, well before I knew my pregnancy was no longer viable, in the hopes of turning them into a baby blanket.
After I lost the baby, I stuffed them in a box and shoved them in the dark recesses of the pantry in the hopes of never seeing them again.
Today, I had a meeting for work and N, one of my coworkers, told me her son and daughter in law had found out they were having twin boys. I decided right then I was going to make them two sets of baby booties with matching hats.
When I found the box containing the granny squares, I thought maybe it would be a good idea to finally sew them into the blanket they were meant to be and I’d give that to the babies too. Because even if my own baby never got wrapped up in it, somebody’s baby ought to be.
September 11 is one of the hardest days of the year for me and it has nothing to do with airplanes hitting the twin towers in New York. It was the day I went to the doctor’s office and he told me that even though they’d seen a heartbeat just ten days before, there wasn’t one now and the baby hadn’t progressed past about seven weeks even though I was supposed to be almost ten weeks pregnant at that point. He didn’t have an answer as to why the pregnancy failed..this kind of thing just happens sometimes. I wanted to slap him when he began his “I know you had plans and hopes for this baby, yadda yadda yadda” speech. I spent the next ten days in a total blur as I waited for the day for my D&C to come. I spent two weeks after that in a mess on the floor, because I couldn’t find any way out of the dark hole I’d fallen into. I remember vividly falling all the way to pieces and almost ending up on a seventy two hour psych hold at the hospital because I couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop crying and when the nurse asked me my name, I didn’t even know what the hell it was. All I knew was that I was in a lot of pain and not the kind you can take an aspirin for.
I’ve been slowly putting my life back together, trying to keep my heart from cracking into a thousand pieces all over again.
I wanted to have a second child..and I try to convince myself if it was meant to happen, it would’ve happened. But it hasn’t..and I flat out refuse to ruin my finances and myself by turning my life upside down with fertility treatments. I’m not saying fertility treatments are WRONG..they’re just my bag. And that’s ok.
I’ve already finished one set of baby booties with the matching hat while watching TV tonight. I’m going to do the other set tomorrow and then sew the granny squares together and present them to my coworker on Friday. I know she will be thrilled and I’m sure her daughter in law will be too. And I’ll be secretly happy that somebody’s getting some use out of the blanket I intended for my child that never came. I crocheted good intentions and hope into every stitch…and now those hopes and good intentions are going to be passed on.
Which, I think, is as it should be.