I have been working on accepting. I want to accept, really. Because there is not really any other way, as far as I can see. But because my ego is still so big, and because my mind is still too chattery, I keep bouncing back and forth. Some days, I felt I could accept everything- that it was really, in the big scheme of things, just an event, and I will just move on. And in the grand scheme of things, what my family and I had been through, is nothing, compared to the suffering of others. But. But some days, it just is not possible to accept. The “why”‘s come back up again. Violently. Repeatedly. Images of Ferdinand’s still little face keeps flashing in-front of my eyes. Tears swell. Fists tighten. Jaws clench. Teeth grind. The heart swoons in yearning and questioning.
I used to live in a different world. Where women have normal, uneventful pregnancies, and normal births and happy healthy babies. I read stories that were hilarious accounts of how labor got kick-started; touching, heartwarming, amazing stories of births; oogled at pictures of fresh, tender lives. Now I know I lived in a small corner of the “world”. Now I know of pregnancies that do not go to term; of women who keeps trying and trying, bracing their hearts for bad news every single day. Now I know every second of life is fraught with danger and tragedy. Now I read a lot of sad stories. Now I truly know how a new life is a big, big miracle.
No matter how much I have read and tried to understand, unless I honestly truthfully and humbly accept it with one hundred percent of my heart, I am not going to find total peace. I cannot be reborn myself.
So, this next pregnancy that we are going to attempt, I don’t know what it is. It is supposed to be an attempt to heal. An attempt to “complete” the family that we wanted. I will also be honest and say I need proof that it was not “my fault”. That my body can do it. That I do not kill babies; I can give birth to a live, healthy one and nurture that life to adulthood. But, after the loss of innocence in this facet of life, this next pregnancy is not going to be what it was. Oh, no way. I can imagine ten months of nerves and roller-coasting, heart-wrenching emotions. The exhaustion of balancing hope and caution and fear. My body aches already thinking of all these. And sometimes cowardice sets in and I just want to turn tail and run.
So, with all these thoughts about a future pregnancy churning in my head, Sophia asked last night, after the lights went out, and before R and I launched a discussion about this next thing… …
Are we going to have a new baby?
… … Maybe… Why?
Because, if we have a new baby; one who is alive and does not die… … then we will have a prince, a prince that is alive.
… … Maybe. We’ll see… …
After she fell asleep I asked R if he heard Sophia’s question, and how he felt about the next time. He said, “Let’s try and see what happens.” Yeah, that’s all we can do. Although, he did also talk about extra monitoring. I replied that monitoring does not guarantee anything. Nothing can guarantee anything. This I know very well now. What can you monitor? There is only so much scientific knowledge and technology can do. I guess I am afraid that something happens again despite monitoring. I felt exhausted. I felt a part of my body had been eaten away, or brutally torn away, and it is still oozing pus and blood. Yet I am going to attempt to try again, some time in a few weeks. Can this be? A damaged body trying to nurture a life? It made me feel hysterical.
But, I guess, we go into it. We brace the hurts and the dangers and the traumas. For perhaps a prince (or princess) who will be alive.