Januray 25th, 2012
Candid conversations with my son: he speaks his truth
In May of 2008 I had my first miscarriage. I found out two days before my first prenatal appointment via an ER ultrasound after vaginal bleeding. Mike and I had told Ray about the pregnancy about a week before this. I did not have any difficulty conceiving Ray or any complications with my pregnancy. We assumed all would be fine. You know what happens when you assume.
Ray was 5 years old at the time and knew quite a bit more about anatomy and physiology and cellular biology than the average 5 year old, but this was still a conversation I had not anticipated having. He had spent the past week or so talking to the baby inside my belly and talking about what he would do when he was a big brother. I was devastated. And a mess.
Although there was a fetus that had passed, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him that a baby had died. So I told him that my body thought I was pregnant, but I wasn’t and in order to get my body ready to have a baby again, I would have to have something done to have my uterus cleaned out by the doctor. He asked if the doctor would go through the incision in my belly where he came out (Ray was born via cesarean section, but that is another blog I will leave for another time). I told him that the doctor would go through my vagina to get to my uterus (again, he knew more than the average 5 year old—he is the son of a former science teacher and at that point, a current nursing student planning to be a midwife). This conversation led to a very funny story involving Mike’s grandparents.
Mike’s grandparents were visiting from California. His Grandfather is called, “Granddaddy,” “Great Daddy,” or “Daddy” by all his various children and grandchildren. Granddaddy grew up in the south and has the sweetest southern accent I ever did hear and I just love him. He was a very proper, kind, and sweet southern gentleman and I am fairly certain that Granddaddy had never uttered the word 'vagina' in his whole life.
I was at home recovering and Mike and Ray went up to his parent’s house to have dinner with his grandparents. In the middle of dinner, Ray felt the need to discuss my recent miscarriage. It went something like this:
“My mom thought she had a baby inside of her.”
“Oh, yes, Ray. We heard. We are sorry about that.”
“Yeah, well, they have to clean out her uterus so she can get ready to have another baby.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And, well, the doctor is probably in her vagina right now.”
I don’t know if anyone laughed then, but I always do when I tell it.
We have since then have many, many, many conversations about my inability to have a child. At this point, he is very happy with being the only child and tells me, “I might be the only person to ever be able to grow in your womb.” (I believe it has gotten to the point where he wants to be the special one and I also thinks he may wonder why I want another baby when I have him and he is so clearly awesome.)
That kid speaks the truth. Whether you like it or not.
A week after the ectopic, in the car:
"So, Mom, if you get pregnant again, it can only come from one side."
"Yes, Ray. That is true."
“Mom, I don’t think you are ever going to have another baby.”
“I don’t really think so either, Ray.”
“Good. I don’t want a brother or sister messing up my stuff.”
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And tonight, after serving him the most pathetic dinner ever, consisting of three slices of turkey bacon, dry Quaker oatmeal squares, raisins, and a sliced apple, I hear, “Thanks, Mom. You know, I’m really glad you are my mom. You take good care of me. And I’m glad my dad is my dad. And I am glad I exist.”
Which made me think of a few things. My friend, Irene, wrote in her book that there should be a word that describes laughing while crying---I need that word at least twice a week. We should make one up.
It also made me think of why people once believed that the heart was responsible for our emotions.
I do feel that my heart can swell with joy, or throb with pain, or break in pieces. I feel it, in my chest, not in my head.
My heartache comes directly from the constant reminders that Benny does want a sibling (at this point in his life anyway, I'm sure that at some point he will feel the same as Ray and be happy that he is an only). After my miscarriage, and subsequent lack of any sort of conception, the stupidest thing (yes, I used that word) that people have said to me is, "well, at least you were able to have one, it would be worse if you couldn't have any". Um, no you friggin idiot, it wouldn't be better, at least not for me. We wanted our first child for us. Our second is not only for us, but for our 1st. When you hurt for yourself and your losses, that's bad. When you hurt for your child, or for their losses, it's worse. Just today, Benny was recording memos on my IPod (he likes to do this, like he's leaving people voicemails), I hear him from the other room record the following, "Dear God, please can I please have a baby brother or sister, Amen". This is a prayer that he says often ... out loud. He watches commercials for the baby bullet and talks about when God gives us a baby, he wants to make it's food and feed it. Pure Heartbreak.
ReplyDeleteRaya is a sweet soul. I'm sure that over the years he has gone through his own sense of loss and has had to come to terms with the idea of never having a sibling. Even the littles have to find a positive. Not having to share his stuff. Awww....
We call it "laughcrying" over here. I know exactly what you mean. And I love Ray. He rocks. And so do you. - Melinda
ReplyDeleteGreat post Marianne... and Ray is a wise child. Also, I served a very similar dinner last night. !
ReplyDeleteRay has to marry Sophia. They both are so knowledgable and come from moms with similar desires and heartaches. <3
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