Mom and baby are healthy

Before I experienced loss, it seemed like I only ever heard one kind of birth story:

“Mom and baby are healthy.”

This is the phrase new dads shared in updates to friends and family after the birth of a baby. It’s what I heard in TV shows and movies. I read it in birth announcements on social media.

Over time, this shaped my expectations for what it would be like to have a baby.

I expected a scenario much like this one:

My water would break (maybe in some dramatic or comical way).

I’d head to the hospital with bags all packed.

My husband would hold my hand as I pushed.

I would hear a strong cry and see a pink, squirmy baby.

That baby would be set on my chest.

All would be right with the world.

I would feel complete.

My husband and I would gaze at this little human we created.

I would wonder “how could I ever live without her?”.

I’d wonder this, but I’d never have the misfortune of finding out.

My husband would exit the room to a waiting room full of friends and family.

“It’s a girl!” he would exclaim.

Everyone would cheer.

A day or two later, I’d be wheeled out of the hospital with a baby in a car seat.

We would take our baby home, our parenting journey just beginning.

Reality was much different

In neither of my births could my husband honestly share, “mom and baby are healthy”.

A more accurate description would have been:        `

A secondary loss to grieve

My births both deviated so much from my dreams that those unmet expectations became yet another loss I had to grieve.

I grieved that I didn’t get to be an active participant in bringing my children into the world, the way I imagined. I didn’t get to experience a normal labor and delivery. My babies were cut out of me to save them. Their births happened to me, rather than being something I was actively a part of. This contributes to the helplessness I feel when I think back to both experiences.

I grieved that my husband couldn’t be by my side as I was being prepped for my surgeries.

I grieved the chance to bond with my babies right after birth. In both cases, my babies were whisked away, separate from me for the first time in 9 months. There isn’t a more unnatural feeling in the world than giving birth and not being able to see your baby afterwards.

I mourned that I could not bring my babies home with me after being discharged.

the unattainable dream

Now, whenever I see birth announcements stating “mom and baby are healthy!”, it brings up seemingly conflicting emotions. Immediately, it is a relief to hear that everyone is safe. I pray and thank God for allowing the child to be born healthy. I never want another mom to have to experience a traumatic birth or loss like I have.

But underneath the relief, there is grief. Grief that the dreams I had for bringing my children into the world still seem to be attainable for others, just not for me. There is a moment where I hope that person doesn’t take it for granted. I wonder if they realize how much of a gift it is to get to give birth safely and bring your baby home. But then, I remind myself that it isn’t my job to remind them to be grateful. No one is more deserving than another person to have a healthy birth. In a perfect world, every parent would have the opportunity to bring their children into the world safely.

But in our broken world, not all births end in “mom and baby are healthy”.