The reality of parenting after stillbirth
I've been writing this blog post over a few months. A post full of love, pain and things I have, quite frankly, been embarrassed to admit. It's a relatively long read, but once again, I hope that by bearing all, I can shed a bit of light into society. And for those who have experienced something similar, I hope this helps you feel less alone with your complex emotions. Please share the blog if you think it worthwhile and feel free to contact me.
As I publish this as Liora is four and a half months old, I am full of so much love for this little human. Her smile lights up the whole room. Parenting a baby at home is definitely the best day job by far. I already have no interest in going back to work in summer (although I must). I much prefer hanging out with Liora. She's a chilled out, gorgeous bubba. I've definitely become one of those boring mothers, obsessed with their children and boring everyone with what new moves their baby did this week.
My mum always used to say she loved my brother and I the same amount and I questioned how. But now I know that no matter how many children you have, you love them in equal measure.
Life moves forward for everyone. It felt to me that the arrival of Liora brought the appearance of ONLY joy. But the message of this blog post is that of the reality for a mother after loss. Joy and sadness, can and do, sit firmly side by side.
An old family friend who I'd not seen in probably 10 years, wrote in an email to me that 'life has taken you in such a short space of time from crushing despair to overwhelming joy.'
The sentiment I understood. This person only has love for me and only wants the best for me. But that sentence is a prime example of the simplistic way in which I think people view parenting after loss. Or the way in which they choose to see it. Or the way in which they wish it was? Perhaps it's more comfortable to view it that way.
When I first read that sentence. I felt sad and lonely - as if I was living in a world where people assume now Liora is here, there is only joy, or there 'should' only be. And when I go deeper into this and look at why it bothers me, I find that its because it feels like Yaeli is now forgotten by others.
It's when people said things like 'you need to focus on Liora, now'....
What do they think I'm doing?
Just because I'm having a wonderful time with Liora and enjoying her gorgeous smiles and developments, doesn't mean I don't get sad about everything I didn't experience with Yaeli.
In fact the more I enjoy and the more in love I get with Liora, the harder I cry at what I missed and the more anxious I become about whether Liora is breathing.
I accept people's lives move on. And I honestly do understand that. Mine has too. But during our second baby loss awareness week, it hurt when I posted on Facebook about my joy with Liora and my pain of missing out on that joy with Yaeli. The photo of Liora received over 100 likes. There were few likes or comments about Yaeli.
It's not possible for people to understand. And that's ok! I don't understand other people's experience of loss - of a sibling or a parent for example - and I shouldn't try. But I also shouldn't try to find platitudes or judge the way someone else reacts to it - because I haven't walked in their shoes. And even if I had, we all react and behave differently.
I have a chip on my shoulder. And it's not a very tasty chip or one I like to admit. But it's written all over this blog. The chip is about me thinking that people are judging me negatively for the way I am parenting my two girls. The reality is that there are few people who do this. Others just say the wrong thing. But if they have my best interests at heart, I need to be kind. I probably say the wrong thing sometimes when there's something I don't understand. That's being human.
My counsellor and I have explored why being judged even matters to me? I know the way I am dealing with my feelings is healthy, so why does it matter?
She believes it could be a way of turning my inner anger outwards. And it's easier to find external ways to vent anger than to sit with the real cause of that anger.
Angry that Yaeli died. Angry that I can never see her again. Angry that I can never breastfeed her, see her smile or laugh with us. Angry that I can't give pour out some of my love to her here, in this world. Angry at the midwife who missed opportunities to save Yaeli. Angry that we were robbed of the chance to see her grow up. Angry that it hurts when I see my friend's babies of similar age happily playing, and I yearn to see Yaeli playing with them too. Angry that I am forever changed.
And sitting with all that sadness hurts. It really really hurts. And it's tiring. So when someone seems to judge me or they don't understand, maybe it's easier to turn the anger outwards. Well, it's a theory.
It's my issue. And it's one that isn't very helpful.
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And what has the journey of parenting Liora been like so far?
At five weeks post partum I was really worried about my feelings.
I wrote; I love Liora. I know I do because I worry about her all the time. I worry that she is in pain when she is moaning and grunting from reflux and I try to wind her and ensure she brings up her milk before sleeping. I worry she isn't breathing when she is too quiet and I stroke her to check that she is - despite her having her breathing monitor on. I want her to be happy and live a long life. I worry she will die. I enjoy stroking her hair and her soft skin on her back.
But I feel like something isn't quite right...
I know the majority of mums find the new-born adjustment incredibly tough, but do they feel like they are going through the motions? Do they just want their baby to be asleep? So they can sleep? Did they find it tough when their baby started to be awake more and then wish they were still asleep?
I think I have been going through the motions. But I want to enjoy Liora.
I have wanted a baby girl at home for so long. I know that in the blink of an eye Liora will be a teenager (I hope) and I will regret not enjoying her. But I'm not sure It's my fault that I feel this way. At this point it's probably just be a lack of sleep that is preventing me enjoy Liora more. But I worry it's post-natal depression.
However, there's more going on...
I'm ashamed to even admit this, but I have looked at Liora and thought to myself what would Yaeli look like at four or five weeks?
How would she behave?
I berate myself for wondering if I wish that Yaeli was here instead of Liora.
But then I think, no, that's unfair on myself.
I think what I'm really wishing is that I had been able to experience Yaeli in this new-born stage. But it makes me feel guilty to have these thoughts, as if they are unfair on Liora.
I think I'm finding it hard to accept Yaeli wasn't here when she was five weeks old - and she never will be. But that's not the same as wishing Yaeli was here instead of Liora. I wish I had been able to experience life with both my children as new-borns.
At 12 weeks I wrote;
I know that those earlier feelings about going through the motions were indeed just tiredness.
Wondering what Yaeli would have been like is totally natural. (I frantically reached out to my group of baby loss friends to make sure. And surely enough, several had felt similar things).
The feelings of sadness and of longing have only got stronger, but I am no longer going through the motions. I am so in love. The first smiles were incredible. I love breastfeeding (once I persevered, got support and finally weaned Liora off nipple shields!!) There's something quite magical about Liora's little face staring adoringly at mine. And the deep gulps of milk she takes make me feel proud.
When I first went to a baby group when Liora was around seven weeks old, I was so nervous about how to introduce Liora when asked 'Is she your first?'
Before Liora was here I was getting used to my reality as a bereaved mum and talking about Yaeli. Becoming a new mum to Liora, as well as a bereaved mum, was a new reality. It took a little getting used to the dual identity.
That first time I mentioned Yaeli in the baby massage group, getting tearful as I explained that Liora is my second baby, I worried I shouldn't have shared a piece of my heart. Because perhaps no-one in that baby group cared. But the next time I did it, it felt absolutely right. I was simply having to learn how to navigate a new identity, one of not just a bereaved mum, but also mum to Liora.
The next part to navigate is the rushes of love and joy, immediately followed by a wave of overwhelming sadness, causing me to cry. And in public this is tough.
In the baby sensory class I'm currently doing, holding Liora close and singing the beautiful 'hello' song, I feel so happy she is here. And so so sad. When I sing lullabies to encourage Liora to sleep and when I see Liora so happy, I immediately feel a rush of unimaginable sadness and longing, that hurts my chest.
And once, in baby massage class when I cried and was asked if I wanted to take a moment outside the room. I had a realisation. No. This is just my reality. This is ok. This is a natural and healthy reaction to my reality.
And wanting to include Yaeli at Chanukah seemed natural to me too. If Yaeli was here, she would have received gifts. So I painted a pebble for her and took it to her grave. It hurt like hell. It still hurts like hell.
But then we went to a party and had a wonderful time with Liora.
I cried when we lit the candles surrounded by our friends and their children. I realised how happy I was, with Liora at home. And how sad I was that Yaeli was absent. And that was ok. Again I carried on.
I sometimes wonder how Liora will feel once she understands that she is our second child. I don't want her to feel she lives in Yaeli's shadow. But I don't think this will happen if we do it right. I recently spoke to someone who was born after the loss of an older sibling. They said that once they knew they were wanted and were not a replacement, they were fine with it. I don't expect Liora to include Yaeli in a list of her siblings (if she has more), but she will learn that Yaeli existed and that we love our children all the same amount.
You may remember that in our naming ceremony speech, I explained that the term rainbow baby doesn't feel like a suitable term for Liora because it implies she is even more precious than what came before, but perhaps less desired. And the simplicity it represents to me - that once the rainbow comes, the storm is over- just doesn't illustrate how the storm rears its head on occasion, and you have to let the storm do it's thing before you can dry off and carry on your day.
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Finally before I sign off, I'd like to mention the part of my journey that still baffles me. The pregnancy announcements. They still cause me uncomfortable feelings. And with Liora here, that may seem strange.
I've had to really ponder my issue here. Again, it's so uncomfortable to do so. It's worse when it's pregnancy of those with babies born around the time that Yaeli was born, but it happens regardless.
I hate to admit this but it's jealousy. But I have to remind myself it's not because I am a jealous person. I'm really not. It's because of my experiences. It's my desire to have a seemingly straightforward, uncomplicated pregnancy, without anxiety - like theirs (even if this isn't their reality). It reminds me of the loss of Yaeli and of any future calm and enjoyable pregnancies - the one where I enjoyed feeling Yaeli tumbling around, warm and happy in her home. When I hear of other people's pregnancies I feel like everything will work out for them, but not necessarily for me. I worry that when I want to become pregnant again it won't happen or I'll have further miscarriages, or worse. It's jealousy and fear all wrapped up in a neat little pregnancy announcement.
It's a reminder of what I lost. And a fear of what might be.
My wise counsellor asked me to ask myself why does it matter if someone else is pregnant?
This is my journey to having a family. No one else's. But the experience makes it difficult to shake my jealousy and insecurities.
I have grappled with this new, dual identity, I understand it more. But it remains a struggle. And sometimes it's tiring.
I know I am so unbelievably lucky to have the family I have in this world. I am so grateful for life, for love and for Liora. I don't take it for granted.
And as I am soon(ish) to consider expanding our family further, I try to stay in the moment rather than worry about the future and the impending doom that is pregnancy anxiety.
Easier said than done. But the future will happen, whether I worry about it or not.
For now, I am enjoying being a mummy to Liora. And I try to accept the ongoing struggles that comes with the immense joy I have.
Debs x
Mummytoanangel Yaeli & Liora
