The Club

I didn't want to be in the "Mothers of Multiples" club.  It wasn't what we had planned.  I was terrified of having twins, of how it would affect our lives and Hayes' life, and how we would physically handle two babies at once.  I didn't want to be in the club.

Now all I want is to be in the club.

You let me down

You were supposed to care about me,  to be someone I could lean on. You told me to call, that you'd be there for me---to talk, to listen, to support me and help me through this.  But you weren't.  I called.  Messages and texts went unreturned.  I try to remind myself that you're only human, that you just didn't know what to say, that maybe you felt like you couldn't help me, or that it was just too sad.  There's no road map for what to say to someone like me.  The truth is that we didn't even have to talk about my sadness, just talking to you about anything else in the world would have helped. 

Do you really want to know?

People ask the obligatory "how are you" as if it's part of the standard greeting.  As in, "hey, how are you?"  I never know if they're really asking, if they really want to know.  I always say, "fine," because I don't want to ambush the asker by saying, "well, my life really fucking sucks in several ways, but it's awesome in others. which do you want to talk about?"

Marin's Rose

Palmolive

Every time I smell that green dish soap for the rest of my life, I will automatically picture myself standing by the little sink in the NICU, washing my pump parts and bottles, staring longingly at the bed space that was hers, holding in the tears that still manage to fall without permission.

I hate that smell, but I can't get enough because it reminds me of her.

"Two Kisses"

I've recently finished reading "Two Kisses for Maddy," a book about a man, Matt, whose wife, Liz, died of a pulmonary embolism the day after giving birth to their daughter.  She never even got to hold their daughter, Madeleine, who was born 7 weeks early and spent her first day of life in the NICU.  I first learned of Matt (and Maddy) about two and a half years ago and began reading his blog: http://www.mattlogelin.com/.  Because I lost my own mother at a very young age, I was drawn to this bittersweet story of a heartbroken man loving and learning how to raise his beautiful daughter during the darkest period of his life.  I was amazed that he had the strength to go on.  Two and a half years ago, I could not imagine anything as utterly devastating as what he went through.  Now, I can.

Some may think it probably wasn't "healthy" for me to read such a book.  Well, I have been reading the blog for so long that I already know the story and have already shed many tears on their account.  I know that, despite it all, Matt and Maddy are thriving.  I read the book in hopes that I could draw some similarities in our experiences, that I could find strength in Matt's courage and make it my own.  In fact, I'm re-reading the book to highlight the passages that really struck home.  I will write about some of them in a series here.

There are two things I should warn you about before you continue reading:  1. do not read Matt's blog unless you are prepared to bawl your eyes out---it is VERY depressing (hee, hee, like mine's not...) and 2.  Matt swears A LOT.  He is especially fond of "fuck."  So, in the spirit of Matt Logelin, I will be following suit.  Do not read the "Two Kisses" posts if your delicate fucking senses can't handle it.

Social Pariah

I wonder how long I will be a social pariah.  The women in my neighborhood can still barely look at me, only some of them brave enough to give a slight wave when passing by, and fewer still have the courage to meet my eyes.  When they do, I mostly see pity and fear... like they're afraid I'm going to break down in tears if they say hello, or worse, that my status as "The Woman Whose Baby Died" is contagious.