Cheers to Birth!

I'm sitting here with a glass of wine. It tastes awful. All the alcohol I could shove (and did shove) down my throat since Hayden died was both desperately needed and surprisingly disgusting. There were many nights during my pregnancy I so longed for the taste of a cold beer. I dearly missed that clumsy little feeling of a good buzz. I don't need to even say this but I would give up alcohol for the rest of my life to have my baby here in my arms, crying his little red face off as I scramble to find something that will comfort him. It's funny now, looking back- all the complaining I did! Like as if pregnancy was a cruel joke. Of course in truth I loved every bit of it but I sometimes think of the things I would say and shake my head.

Sharing pictures of my final days with him, a side shot 'selfie' in the mirror with words like "Hayden, I love you but GET OUT!". So funny because it was so uncomfortable and I was so HUGE and I just wanted to end it. What I wouldn't give to have him with me one more day, kicking the crap out of my ribs and making me almost (and sometimes actually) pee my pants from his heavy head on my weak bladder. I guess what I am trying to say in a round about way is that everything in life is meaningless now. Does that make sense? Everything I wanted, everything I loved, everything that made me happy, EVERYTHING in general is now bittersweet and much less important than the one true joy I knew. After we left the hospital empty handed with an empty car seat we silently drove straight to the liquor store. What else was there to do? We couldn't go home just yet. Everything in our apartment had Hayden written all over it. The crib, the blankets, the clothes neatly folded, the play pen in the living room, the stroller at the door. There was a pot on the stove still with Raspberry leaf tea I was drinking profusely to bring on labor and strengthen my uterine muscles- and whatever else that stuff was supposed to do. The bathtub was still full of the water I sat in to ease my painful contractions, wet towels on the floor, evidence of a woman about to have her baby and leaving for the hospital in an excited rush. Our apartment was a crime scene of what should have been, evidence laying everywhere of the fate we were supposed to have. So we silently drove to purchase wine and beer. We spent that night at Nick's parents house unable to go home. My grandparents were in Saint John and planning to make their way to visit before going back home up North knowing the baby would probably (hopefully) be here. When I called (or my mother called, I cannot remember) my grandmother from the hospital to tell her that Hayden was dead and I was going to deliver him soon my grandfather was in surgery getting stints put in. I guess I never had the chance to think about it until now but she was sitting alone in the waiting room of a hospital an hour away as her husband was undergoing a relatively safe but you-never-know kind of procedure as she found out that her only granddaughter whom she raised from a little girl was about to give birth to a dead baby. I wonder what she was thinking and feeling. They met us at Nick's parents about 20 minutes after we arrived. We were alone in the house for 20 minutes at first pouring our glasses. It was early in the afternoon but no one questioned our choice of beverage. My grandfather is an emotional man. A big, strong, hulk-type cry baby of a man. I sat on the couch and showed him pictures we took of Hayden the night before, I left my phone with them because I couldn't take it anymore and walked out of the room allowing them to "meet" their great-grandson the only way they could. We heard my grandfather let out a wail and say to my grandmother "That is one strong man to be able to hold his son like that".

I knew which picture he was looking at. And yes, he IS a strong man.















No matter how many glasses of wine I consumed in those early few days I could never get "drunk". I did what I could to numb myself but shock and grief were too overpowering to allow my body to truly react to any alcohol. I am not trying to say that I have become an alcoholic since losing my son, just to clarify, in no way is that the case. But really, what would you do?

I'm kind of stalling because what I really sat down to write was this:

There is a feeling that has been lingering lately and I need to figure out how to express it. Earlier this evening I shared this raw thought to my fellow BLM's (new acronym I learned - "Baby loss mama") on the incredibly supportive Facebook page "S.O.B.B.S" (Stories Of Babies Born Still- if you are reading this blog and looking for a support network check that out!). I posted it there because I knew they would all understand even though I couldn't quite get it out right yet. I received an incredible response from many other women thanking me for finally saying what they so long felt like saying. Some of these women talking about babies they lost 25 years ago (that's the same amount of time I've been alive!). Here it is, I'm going to say it publicly and hope I don't offend anyone...Why do women who give birth to living children receive credit for their incredible labor process and women who give birth to dead babies don't? Maybe this doesn't make sense to you yet so let me further explain. When someone we know and love gives birth to a baby we congratulate them on their strength through hard labor and perseverance through the pain. They are women of force and credibility! They did it! It's beautiful and amazing and we tell them that it was. We tell them it was because IT WAS. They do deserve every credit they receive because I can tell you first hand, birthing a baby is no

picnic! When women experience a stillbirth they are said to have "experienced" a stillbirth. My stillbirth was more than an "experience", let me tell you that! I gave birth too! I cried, I pushed, I screamed, I grunted, I felt the excruciating pain. I almost squeezed Nick's hand right off and stared desperately at him for the will to go on when I didn't think it possible. For crying out loud I busted a blood vessel in my freaking eye pushing out that 8.3 pound baby! I had a REAL birth even though it was a stillbirth, where is my gold star? Stillbirth but STILL birth. I don't remember anyone telling me I was amazing for that (except Nick). I'm just "strong" because I am waking up everyday after losing my baby. Really, I am not strong because of that..I have no choice! I experienced the beauty of birth too..I felt my child move through the birth canal until his body finally left mine.. that intense and spiritual separation..only difference is my baby was dead. Isn't that something?? Am I not like everyone else who went through the incredibly powerful struggle of labor and birth, that beautiful and horrible thing that makes us  WOMEN? Yes I am and it's time someone started congratulating me for that instead of simply telling me they are sorry for my loss. In my loss I gained too. I gained the status of a Mother. I gained access to the same club every woman out there with living children received. I did it too! And I did it knowing I would not keep the product of my pain. To me, that is even more commendable. To all of you beautiful women out there who have birthed dead babies, CONGRATULATIONS! I am proud of you for making it through that beautiful and sad journey of labor. Giving birth when you already know you will not hear that first cry of life from the child you carried in your womb for so long is a truly powerful and life changing thing. Birth, no matter the outcome is serious business... Cheers to that!!

Now that my wine bottle is empty and the fruit flies are beginning to congregate it is time I signed off,

Thank you again for reading,

XOX

Hayden's (slightly drunk) Mama