Saturday, June 14, 2014


I am still ranting. I can't post the rant that I wrote earlier. It's one of those that I need to think on. I might regret sharing it even though it's been brewing for months, and it's what I really think with a few deleted eff bombs. I wrote about loss comparisons and about how people say that loss isn't a competition. Below is my attempt to write about this again with a calmer tone.

Comparisons are made all the time in the baby loss community--often by those with early losses who don't want to claim that their loss hurts as much as someone who lost a baby later in the pregnancy. How dare a mom be devastated over the loss of a mere fertilized egg that had just a few days or hours to grow? I have seen moms compare their own early loss with a later loss. If this is a competition, there are no winners. Losing Alaska hurts. Losing her baby sibling Auburn hurts. If Alaska had died earlier in my pregnancy would it have hurt less to lose her? Fuck no. I loved that baby girl before I knew she was here. It pisses me off to think that Auburn is supposed to matter less. Hurt less. I had a baby on Monday. He was dead. It happened. It sucks.

Another thing we say in this community is that there is no "at least" in baby loss: least you have other children. least you know there was probably something wrong with the baby. (This one makes my head explode. I'm serious. My brains are on the ceiling right now just thinking about it. As if this possibility would make having dead babies ok...) least you know you can get pregnant again. least your baby is at peace. least nothing.

I agree that there is no "at least" yet I say at least I had more time with Alaska. At least we know that she's our daughter. We think that Auburn was a boy, but we don't know.  When I say "our boys," Auburn isn't included. When I say "my daughter," Auburn isn't included. I refuse to put him in either category. We just don't know. He's our tiny angel. He's a baby sibling. He's not a son or a boy. And he's certainly not our girl. Just because he doesn't fit into a category doesn't mean it's easier to lose him. In some ways it makes it harder. I would happily have carried him for months if it meant that I could know him for longer even if he died before he was born. Messed up, I know.