My husband's work had a party this evening, and I know I made everyone feel uncomfortable by my silence, but if I had to carry on some meaningless conversation today, it just might send me on over the edge. I shouldn't even be in civilized society today, nor should anyone be subjected to my anger, so I chose to leave the party early, and I now sit in a dark living room typing dead words on a screen.
Brayden will be seven months old. At the party, there was a baby who is that age, and his grandmother was quick to point out that he was born just two weeks before Brayden; inside, I withered, knowing that my baby can probably sit up, and is alert and engaged with his surroundings, places I've never seen and people I will one day rip from his life. He doesn't know me. To him, our house in our town in our country does not exist. I wake every morning and wonder what he's doing; I lie down with an empty ache and sometimes (not as often as before, but at various hormonal spikes) I scream with a rage that frightens me.
I absolutely cannot believe that he has been alive 208 days. He has had 208 mornings, waking with a bubbly excitement at seeing a new day, and I have seen a mere four. He doesn't know the sound of my voice or the comfort of my touch; when we see each other again (Oh Lord, please let it come soon), I will be a stranger, and everything I have longed to do for these 208 days will be different from the way they do it. I am afraid he will reject me, and I blame these many days we have been apart.
Those whose children were born to them take for granted those precious first months, when baby settles into life with Mom and Dad. My child has suffered the loss of all he knew in his birth mother, has bonded with a family he will never know, and will one day fly to a home where no one looks like him.
I don't think I can do this again,
and if we never have a baby biologically, Brayden will be an only child.
Maybe I should just concentrate
on getting him home
before he is grown.
2 comments:
Oh, Sabrina honey... I am so very sorry. Your post has me in tears... I know all too well your heartache and the feeling of missing out and longing for your baby. It's an emptiness that no-one can truly understand (unless they've endured it). My heart is with you, and I am here if you ever want to talk (or cry). Email me, and I'll give you my phone number too. Until then, just know I'm here, I understand, and I care so much. Your adorable Brayden will soon be in your arms, he will fall in love with you and he will be so blessed to finally have his forever Mommy to love and care for him... I promise.
Big Hugs,
Shana
Thank you for your kind words of encouragment, Shana. I know you are no stranger to the pain of waiting, so it means a lot that you can offer a perspective from "the other side."
I was half-way hoping no one read my weepy post! I felt like a whiner even as I wrote it!
I appreciate the support, and I offer mine in return.
Post a Comment