Picking up the Pieces: Enter Mommy's Baby
It was the first and only time I have ever seen my husband cry. We were sitting on the couch a few days after and a Pampers commercial came on, I lost it. He sunk his head into my arms and cried. It was brief, but it hurt my heart so much. I don't know if he was crying because he was sad about the baby or because he knew how sad I was. I went into a deep depression after my miscarriage. I wanted a baby so bad. It just didn't seem fair. I felt like everyone around me was pregnant or had a baby.
The days, weeks, and months following the miscarriage were rough. It seemed as though people expected me to just "get over it." I was expected to go about my normal life like everything was ok. It was not ok. I was not ok. I returned to work five days later. It was impossible to teach. "Where were you? We missed you! We thought you died." In a way, my students were right. A little piece of me had died. "I was very sick," I told them with tears in my eyes. Students often asked "Are you crying?" because my eyes would well up without warning. "No, it's just my contacts," I would say. I cried every day. I cried when I woke up, while I was getting ready, in the shower, on my way to work, I cried when my classroom was empty, I cried in the bathroom at work, I cried on my way home from work. For weeks and months, my day consisted of faking that I was healing. I felt ashamed. Why couldn't I move on?
My mom came over and quickly removed anything "baby" related from my house. I remember my husband hiding the ultrasound pictures from me early on. I never looked for them because I feared my own reaction to finding them. I assume they are still hidden somewhere in the desk that sits just 3 feet away from me at the moment. Within a few weeks, he was pretty much over it. He started to tire of my constant sadness. He had finally had enough. "You need to get over it," he said sternly. My heart sank. He was truly over it and now I was left to pick up the pieces of my broken heart alone. It infuriated me that he wanted me to just "move on." How was he not upset? How could he not care anymore?
I thought that getting a puppy would soften the blow. A few weeks after my loss I went out and bought a Goldendoodle. I called my husband, "Babe, I am at the pet store and I found a Goldendoodle that I like a lot." His response was, "Do what you want to do, I know you are going to buy it anyway." Clearly he wasn't thrilled, but he sure was right. I was buying that puppy with or without his consent. It was the best decision I made. We named him Fonzie, but he soon became known as "Mommy's Baby." He was my baby and he made me happy. I would sing to him, snuggle with him, watch movies with him. He helped me not think about what had happened as often. I brought him everywhere with me. If he wasn't allowed, I wasn't going. He filled a part of a huge hole in my heart. I spent the summer taking care of my sweet little furbaby. I was sad to go back to work, but I was ready to put the previous school year behind me and start new. I had done a bit of healing over the summer. My crying daily had tapered off. It was not gone, but much less. I still cried often but mostly I cried in the shower and in the car where no one could hear me.
I was still grieving. I was still sad, but I learned to just "deal." I truly believe that buying Fonzie helped begin to mend my broken heart. He kept me busy and showed me that I was going to eventually be ok. He gave me a bit of purpose. I gushed over him to anyone that would listen. I posted 78453845 pictures of him. I talked about him non-stop. I treated him like he was my baby, and he was, he still is. People were nice enough to let me talk about him as if he were my real child. Fonzie truly helped in my healing process.
The days, weeks, and months following the miscarriage were rough. It seemed as though people expected me to just "get over it." I was expected to go about my normal life like everything was ok. It was not ok. I was not ok. I returned to work five days later. It was impossible to teach. "Where were you? We missed you! We thought you died." In a way, my students were right. A little piece of me had died. "I was very sick," I told them with tears in my eyes. Students often asked "Are you crying?" because my eyes would well up without warning. "No, it's just my contacts," I would say. I cried every day. I cried when I woke up, while I was getting ready, in the shower, on my way to work, I cried when my classroom was empty, I cried in the bathroom at work, I cried on my way home from work. For weeks and months, my day consisted of faking that I was healing. I felt ashamed. Why couldn't I move on?
My mom came over and quickly removed anything "baby" related from my house. I remember my husband hiding the ultrasound pictures from me early on. I never looked for them because I feared my own reaction to finding them. I assume they are still hidden somewhere in the desk that sits just 3 feet away from me at the moment. Within a few weeks, he was pretty much over it. He started to tire of my constant sadness. He had finally had enough. "You need to get over it," he said sternly. My heart sank. He was truly over it and now I was left to pick up the pieces of my broken heart alone. It infuriated me that he wanted me to just "move on." How was he not upset? How could he not care anymore?
I thought that getting a puppy would soften the blow. A few weeks after my loss I went out and bought a Goldendoodle. I called my husband, "Babe, I am at the pet store and I found a Goldendoodle that I like a lot." His response was, "Do what you want to do, I know you are going to buy it anyway." Clearly he wasn't thrilled, but he sure was right. I was buying that puppy with or without his consent. It was the best decision I made. We named him Fonzie, but he soon became known as "Mommy's Baby." He was my baby and he made me happy. I would sing to him, snuggle with him, watch movies with him. He helped me not think about what had happened as often. I brought him everywhere with me. If he wasn't allowed, I wasn't going. He filled a part of a huge hole in my heart. I spent the summer taking care of my sweet little furbaby. I was sad to go back to work, but I was ready to put the previous school year behind me and start new. I had done a bit of healing over the summer. My crying daily had tapered off. It was not gone, but much less. I still cried often but mostly I cried in the shower and in the car where no one could hear me.
I was still grieving. I was still sad, but I learned to just "deal." I truly believe that buying Fonzie helped begin to mend my broken heart. He kept me busy and showed me that I was going to eventually be ok. He gave me a bit of purpose. I gushed over him to anyone that would listen. I posted 78453845 pictures of him. I talked about him non-stop. I treated him like he was my baby, and he was, he still is. People were nice enough to let me talk about him as if he were my real child. Fonzie truly helped in my healing process.
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| This is a rosebush we planted for the baby soon after. |
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