My mom had hip replacement surgery yesterday. Any time anyone I love has major surgery, it makes me nervous. Fear and I have been such close acquaintances lately. She’s doing well except she has ridiculously low blood pressure. I’ve chosen to avoid the Google search and simply hold the vision of her fully recovered. No sense in feeding the fear.
Speaking of fear…as I often do these days…Ada and I were climbing over rocks at the beach today and ran into a big mama Black Widow spider. She saw us watching her and scurried under her rock but we got a decent glimpse. When we came home we looked at pictures and talked again about what to do if she sees another one. I also realized – after she ran away from me in Target the other day – that we need to start talking specifically about what to do if she gets lost. Fear just ate that one for lunch.
I remember after my first miscarriage seeing pregnant women everywhere. It’s happening again. There was a woman at the beach today with her daughter who looked to be about two. Before Ben, I might have struck up a conversation, asked when she was due, how she was feeling, talked about our daughters. When the impulse came today I froze inside. Why do I want to talk to this woman? So I can tell her I was pregnant too but my baby died? Yes. That’s what I want. As my belly (slowly) shrinks, the evidence of Ben’s life fades. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to be the invisible child he is. There’s a part of me that wants to scream at these women, My baby died and yours could too. But yours probably won’t. Because you’re not me. Because the odds are in your favor. Because even though 2000 babies are lost in the US every day through miscarriage, pregnancy and infant loss, the odds are still in your favor. And there’s a little part of me – such a tiny part – that hates you for that.