RE-LEARNING HOW TO LIVE, LOVE, AND LAUGH 

AFTER THE LOSS OF MY BABIES - ONE SONG AT A TIME.

obabywhereartthou@gmail.com

  • Sara

I am a mother, too

This post is best read while listening to 'Soul meets body' by Death Cab for Cutie.


Who is a mother? Someone who has a child.


Except, it's not always that clear-cut. If there's one aspect of myself that my two pregnancy losses have painfully highlighted, is my naivety. Last year, I blissfully ignored the statistics around miscarriages, and even when Daniel pointed them out when I was six weeks pregnant with my first baby, I still said out loud: "Yes, but that's not the norm! Surely, that's not the type of stuff that would happen to people like us." What the hell did "people like us" even mean? I guess it meant "young, healthy, fertile" people with no known history of any health problems?


Then, when I got pregnant with Luca, I felt a bit more cautious. A bit wiser, perhaps. I became an expert in miscarriages, ectopic pregnancies, anaembryonic pregnancies, molar pregnancies. I found out that stillbirths are horrifyingly more common than we think. I read about the perils of early labour. I learnt about incompetent cervix (what a shamefully misleading, guilt-ridden, misogyinstic expression to identify a very serious problem which has nothing, and I repeat NOTHING to do with you or your body being 'incompetent'). I learnt about all sorts of issues that your placenta might develop. And, of course, I knew about voluntary abortions - several women I know personally have gone through that.


Yet, I knew next to nothing about terminations for medical reasons. I can't bloody figure out why, but I guess this is one of the million reasons why I want to talk about it on here, on social media, and with people on the streets. I am not ashamed. I am not guilty. Most importantly: I am a mother, too.


To remind myself of this, I have compiled a (short and incomplete, I'm sure) list of acts that I perform as Luca's mother:


- I created this blog. I picked fonts, colours, images and songs. I painstakingly choose each single word, in the same way as I would choose baby outfits, colour swatches for the nursery, or books.

- I surround myself with plants and flowers. I touch them, water them, make sure they get the right amount of light, in the same way as I would cuddle, feed, and nurture Luca.

- I listen to music, write unpretentious songs, play my ukulele, in the same way as I would sing to Luca, gently lulling him to sleep.

- I carry Luca's name on delicate pieces of jewellery around my neck and my wrist, in the same way as I would carry Luca in my arms.

- I kiss and hug and love Daniel, in the same way as I would kiss and hug and love Luca.

- I pick the songs, poems, and flowers for Luca's funeral, in the same way as I would pick a cake, balloons, and banners for his birthday.

- I talk about Luca to other mums with empty arms, sharing his pictures and his memories, in the same way as I would exchange feeding and sleeping tips with other mums if Luca was alive.

- I clean Luca's picture frames, his memory box, his night sky frame, in the same way as I would clean his toy box, his changing table or his clothes.

- I take Luca's little elephant soft toy with me wherever I go, in the same way as I would take him with me wherever I go.

- I have stopped saying "the baby" and instead started saying "Luca" when I speak to other people who don't understand baby loss, in the same way as I would say his name if he was alive.


If you, like me, are a mother without a child, or a mother without one particular child, I invite you to reflect on your motherhood and, why not, to put pen to paper and write a similar list. Because, sometimes, we need reminders like these to fully appreciate the extent of our motherly love towards our lost children.


The beautiful drawing on the left is from https://lamammainvisibile.weebly.com/


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