I held a baby yesterday. It was a little baby boy named Elijah. He goes by Eli. Holding a baby doesn’t sound like a big
deal for most people, and it isn’t.
For me, though, it is a huge deal.
A big accomplishment.
Probably a milestone, really.
Eli is 6 weeks old, about as old as Max was when he died. So, holding Eli really is incredible
for me. Holding a baby is
something that people do without really thinking about it. It’s natural to want to hold a new baby
and examine every nook and cranny of his tiny, intricate face. People smile big and wide when they see
a new baby. Even strangers do
this. A mother can’t take a new
baby anywhere without filling full of pride from strangers’ smiles,
compliments, and questions.
Suddenly the middle-aged store clerk’s scowl is rearranged to a smile
that lights up her eyes when she sees that little baby in his car seat. The rude shopper who might have cut you
off with her aggressive shopping cart maneuvers stops and smiles, motioning for
you and your baby to go ahead of her.
She stares over your shoulder at your baby and perhaps remembers the joy
and pride that she felt as a young mother. Maybe I’m giving people too much credit, but people really
do melt when they see babies. It’s
been hard for me to be that person lately, though. It’s hard to smile when I see a beaming mother pushing her
baby around in the shopping cart, talking to him even though he doesn’t
understand a word of her speech.
It’s hard to look at another woman’s baby and remember that I used to
have one of those too: a little
part of me looking back into my eyes and responding to my softly spoken
words. It’s really hard to
remember that I used to be that mom that strangers stopped to say, “Look at all
of that beautiful hair!” “How old
is he?” “How precious!” “Is he your first?” I guess what’s really hard is to not be that person any more
and to be the person who stares blankly at another woman’s baby instead. Sometimes I feel like moms can look at
me and tell that I’ve lost a baby.
Maybe they guard their babies more around me because they think I might
want their baby. Really, I don’t
want anyone else’s baby. I want
mine.
A
few days ago, I went to Jose Pepper’s to meet with Donna, the facilitator of
the SIDS support group that Scott and I attend, and Lori. We were having a nice time talking
about the fundraiser that we’re planning, and two of my friends from work
stopped by to have a drink with us.
(Niki and Donna—you guys were WELCOME, so I don’t want to hear anything
else about it!) I actually felt
pretty relaxed and calm. I would
say that I felt happy, but that would be overstating it. Lori likes to say that she has bad days
and worse days; I was having a bad day.
At some point, a young couple with a baby sat beside us. I didn’t notice when they sat down, but
I noticed them the second the dad pulled the tiny baby out of her car
seat. She had a full head of black
hair. She was probably 3-4 weeks
old. Obviously, she was very
different from Max in that she was a female. Let’s be honest, though, a lot of people have a hard time
telling whether a newborn is a boy or a girl unless it’s wearing blue or
pink. Ethan was constantly
mistaken for a baby girl. This
baby resembled Max because of her size and her hair. She had so much hair.
It startled me seeing it, but what really got me was when she started to
cry. It dawned on me that I hadn’t
heard a baby cry since Max died.
It was a horrible realization.
Suddenly, I couldn’t concentrate on anything that my tablemates were
saying. I knew that I should
leave, but I wanted to ride it out.
I wanted to be normal. Of
course, I’m not normal, and I couldn’t ride it out. I didn’t even politely excuse myself. I just said, “I’m going to need to leave. Sorry.” And then I got up.
Lori and Donna probably saw me staring at the baby from the moment her
father got her out of her car seat.
See, I’m that creepy lady who just stares expressionless at someone
else’s baby. Lori knew that I was
upset. She texted me on my way
home, and her words made me feel a little better. It was just nice to know that someone else recognized how
upsetting a tiny baby’s cries could be for me. It made me feel like less of a weirdo, I guess.
I
had made plans earlier in the week to get together with a group of women, some
old friends and some strangers, for dinner on Sunday night. Children were invited, including a
6-week-old boy, Eli. My friend
Ellen made sure that I knew he would be there so I could prepare myself or just
decline the invitation. That was
so considerate of her; she is one of the most thoughtful people I know. I had been looking forward to seeing
Eli, but I was also a little hesitant.
I just never know how I’ll react to things anymore, but I was looking
forward to giving it a try. After
all, I can’t avoid babies for the rest of my life, especially since I want
another one! I also realize that
other people are uncomfortable or unsure in these situations. No one really knows whether to talk to
me about their babies, bring them around us, etc. I understand that, and I think it is very kind of them to
consider our feelings. I am
uncomfortable and unsure about it too.
All I can do is keep experimenting until I figure it out. I asked Ellen all sorts of questions
about Eli—does he look like Max?
How many days beyond 37 has he lived?—and then I decided that I wanted
to meet him. I’ve heard so many
wonderful things about Eli’s mom, and I wanted to be around her. I had a feeling that she would
understand me and be gentle with my feelings. (She did and she was)
After the Jose Pepper’s incident, I started to question whether it was a
good idea to be around Eli, though.
If a little girl whose only resemblance to Max was dark, long hair could
send me into hysterics, what would a little boy who was the same age as Max do
to me? I don’t consider myself an
“avoider” of potentially uncomfortable situations, so I went. And I’m so glad that I did.
My
sister-in-law, Cheryl, was in town with her daughter, Maddie. We all piled in the Prius and drove
clown-car-style over to Ellen’s. That
car is NOT big enough for 3 adults and 2 children, but luckily it’s a short
drive. Cheryl broke the ice right
away with her famous one-liners.
We all joke that she is going to write a book full of them; her husband,
Scott’s brother, has already titled the book: Tact: Inappropriate Sayings for Every
Occasion. I’m so glad that she
was with me. Thanks for being you,
Cheryl. Oddly enough, there was a
little girl there named Stella.
She was four months old. I
say “oddly enough” because my good friends, Jim and Liz, were at the hospital
preparing to welcome their little baby, Stella, into the world that day. She didn’t make her appearance until
Monday morning (poor Liz!), but I loved meeting a baby with the same name as a
girl who I plan to spoil like crazy.
I felt really at ease around all of the women there, even the ones I was
meeting for the first time that night.
I assume that they all know my story, but they didn’t treat me like a
freak or look at me with pity in their eyes. They asked questions about me, joked with Cheryl, and didn’t
tense up when I mentioned Max.
They complimented me on my new tattoo and laughed when I told them that
I had to remove the bandage covering it because I worried that people would
think that I was doing some self-harming.
I had a great time. Eli
slept most of the time, and his mom was silently considerate of my
feelings. I know that sounds
weird—silently considerate—but what I mean is that she didn’t put me on the
spot by asking me questions—are you okay? Is he okay being here? Can you be in
the same room with him? etc.
Instead, she acted in ways that let me know that she was considering my
loss. I am so grateful for
that.
Eventually,
we all ended up in the living room.
Eli slept in a friend’s arms at the other end of the couch from me. Ellen sat between us. She leaned over and asked quietly if I
would like to hold him. I thought
about it, and I decided that I wanted to give it a try. Ellen worried later that she was
pushing me to move faster than I was ready to by asking me, but that wasn’t the
case. I was relieved that Ellen
asked because I wouldn’t have had the guts to ask to hold him. I held Eli in my arms, and I looked at
his innocent little face. I
probably had a little bit of longing and loss in my eyes, but what I mostly
remember feeling was happiness, love, and pride for Eli’s mom. He is a beautiful boy. And for the record, he doesn’t look
anything like Max. I have no illusions
that this made holding him easier.
My arms haven’t been filled with a baby since Max died, and it was such
a good feeling to be able to hold one again. I can remember exactly what it felt like to hold Max and
stare at his beautiful face. This is
the most vivid memory I have of him.
I say this with absolute admiration and adoration, but Eli looked like a
little George Costanza. We all
agreed. He had recently lost the
hair only on the top of his head, leaving him with just a little ring of hair. It was so cute.
I’m
glad that I held Eli and that it was such a success. It gave me the courage and confidence that I needed to go to
the hospital the next day to visit Stella. I held her for the first time, and I also entered a
maternity ward for the first time.
I had imagined all of these things being incredibly emotional for
me. I thought they would bring
back memories of Max and my pregnancy, and I thought those memories would make
me miss him more. What I realized
is that that’s impossible. I can’t
miss Max any more than I already do.
Nothing that I do can make my loss feel any more painful than it already
is. No baby that I hold is going
to make me long for Max again any more than I already do. Seeing babies with black hair and big
feet might be harder for me on some days, but some days it will make me smile
while remembering Max’s beautiful smile and contagious laugh. While these milestones might seem small
and insignificant to some, they are major for me. I allowed myself to be vulnerable to breakdowns and
uncomfortable emotions, and I surprised myself with smiles and happiness.
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