The Labor of Letting Go

There's almost always that joy when you see two lines on a preg test kit. I definitely felt that way, but somehow, I also feared we weren't ready - I wasn't ready - even if we planned on expanding the family by the time F's two. I kept that feeling hidden, because who wouldn't love another baby? 

When the ultrasound was done, and I saw that tiny heart beating so fast, my fears vanished. What a miracle it was to have another tiny being living inside of me, depending on me. So, I quickly settled in to being a preggo: I no longer had to worry about weight gain, I can eat between regular meals (no need for excuses, but of course I needed to be careful of what I eat, too), I can still do yoga but I need not focus on the weight side but rather on the wellness side. 

As my pregnancy progressed (and this was just a few weeks from the time we found out), I slowly got anxious of the coming months, and I was thinking that I had to go thru the whole ordeal again. It's like a rerun that I wasn't completely hooked at. I was worried about the operation. I even got skeptical about my mothering skills! How am I going to handle two kids now? How are we going to breastfeed? What positions are best for us when we sleep? How am I going to manage my time? Their time? Will I even sleep? I just kept overthinking. And worse, I just can't wait for my stomach to get bigger and get it over with. 

I guess it's different the second time around for all of us. With F, every moment was savored. But with the second, I felt I was in a hurry. And I didn't want to feel that way because I would have wanted to somehow feel the same as when I was pregnant with F: I wanted every moment to be exciting, to be savored. I didn't want to have to tell them* in the future, "Oh, I really wasn't into the whole pregnancy thing at that time." Imagine how they would feel? 

Then after a month, it felt weird. I was strangely aware that the hormones were not kicking in. And then the bleeding came. And then the second ultrasound was done. All the agony of waiting and just hoping to see that tiny heart beating, but there was none. It was just a static image devoid of life. It said, "No cardiac activity." And then the heartbreak. And I was sorry. So sorry that I didn't love them enough to have kept them alive and growing. Sorry that I was just in a hurry. Sorry that I was just not enough. 

I let a month pass to see if it will pass out naturally before we decided to undergo D&C. A month for me to keep them inside for just a bit longer, to let go, to slowly bid farewell. Those final hours was the most painful goodbye. I never had to experience labor with F, and I thought I would never ever experience that. For me, I guess labor is one way of celebrating one’s womanhood. And, I at least, was grateful that I had to experience labor with this one, albeit in a different setting: one of letting go instead of welcoming a new life. 

It was finally a relief when it was done. With the help of my husband, family, friends and my Ob, I was able to accept, to heal. I now know that it was never my fault; that it was part of God's masterplan. I know that I am enough. Two months was a short while, but it was maybe so I could let go easily. It was a short chapter of my life, but I definitely learned a lot. ❤️

*gender-neutral pronoun