Waking Up is Hard

I don't usually do this but it's important. Trigger Warning: Pregnancy Loss

I made it to the hospital pretty quickly when the contractions started. But as soon as I walked inside I felt a wave of cold sweat wash over me and I rushed into the nearest bathroom. As it was with my other daughter my body seemed to void and empty my system and I felt so much better after. I made my way to Labor and Delivery and was asked to sit in a waiting area which was strange as I was clearly experiencing labor. Throughout this time I held my belly, talking to the baby girl inside. I was feeling so many emotions, I was often overwhelmed by them and I kept saying our daughter's name, sort of randomly adding it to sentences where it didn't really make sense. Everything took strange amounts of time. I was asked to complete a mountain of paperwork. They brought me food and drinks. These should have been my first clues. It seemed to drag on and on. I just wanted to get to a room and have my baby. But I couldn't. There was always another obstacle. A new doctor, a question, go upstairs, go downstairs, sign this, wait. Finally in the corners of my consciousness I stirred enough to realize this was a dream. It was only a dream. I began to wake up but I fought it. I tried rewinding it back and restarting from there. Imagining that I was taken into a room. That I put on the hospital gown and climbed into bed. But I couldn't have my baby. My mind even in my wakeful dream would not allow me imagine it. Maybe my mind was protecting me. Sometimes it's all too much to think about for any length of time. Losing a child, in pregnancy or otherwise, is the worst pain. Like a cruel joke. Your body, your heart, your home are preparing for a child and then they are gone. It has happened six time across my motherhood journey. Every child longed for, loved and mourned. I often dream of the children. I like to think of them as dream dates. Dream dates were little nighttime conversations I would have with my surviving children to help them fall asleep. We would talk at bedtime and plan a dream date and a location. Talk about where we'd go, all we would do when we met up that night in our dreams. In the dream dates with my babies that have passed, we don't need an exotic location. We don't meet up at Disney World or the Eiffel Tower. They are just sitting at the dining room table, telling me they don't like beans or brussel sprouts and they only want pasta. Sometimes we are walking in the woods, or loading into the car. I brush their hair, put a band-aid on a scraped knee. It's so mundane. But it's what I dream about. Sometimes I dream about my pregnancies and carrying them, but in my dreams they are never born. The dream just ends. That sums it all up really. The dream just ends. The life that could have been, the family that should have been, just isn't. I can see them older but never small. This is my experience. The losses for me were hard, they broke my heart so often that grief and I made our peace. I went on, of course. Loving my husband and my children, devoting my life to them. Feeling even more profoundly blessed with every day I had them. But the children I never took on walks in the woods, or snapped into a carseat remain with me. Always. Just like in my dreams, they stay inside me. They are safe there. Protected. All mine. With me, for all time. Some days, waking up is really hard to do.