I just don't belong anywhere.

Warning: This is like three posts in one. If you get to the bottom, I am sorry to say that there will be no cookie. And you may even dislike me for what I have to say or think I am crazy or even find offense to my thoughts, but that is a risk I have to take, because this is where I go to vent and spew my thoughts so that I don't explode in the "real world".

This blog stuff is tricky. Often I want to write here, but I have so much anxiety about putting it “out there” for potentially the entire world to see. (Not that the entire world is actually looking or gives a sh*t.) I wasn't sure where this anxiety originated, until I thought about it for a while. I realized that I feel like I would write so much more if I’d simply lost a singleton pregnancy, honestly. I’d feel much more like part of “the club”. The dreaded “dead baby club” (or DBC), as many in the loss community call it.

My son died. I have every right to be here writing about him. I have every right to grieve him. I am a broken person. Yet I feel like many BLM choose to not follow my blog (possibly) because they don’t want to read about my living daughter. Just as they may not want to read other BLM blogs who have living children from previous pregnancies. Maybe I trigger their pain. Maybe that’s why sometimes I send a BLM a friend request via FB, and it just sits there. They don’t want to see photos of my infant daughter.

I get it, but it is still incredibly and painfully isolating to feel shunned at times by the BLM community.

What I want other BLM to understand is that yes, I still brought a baby home from the hospital. However, that does not mean I'm okay, that I don't need their support, that I'm going to be "over it" more quickly, or that my pain is any less. It is surely a different experience, but not better, not worse. I'd like to think my voice in this community still deserves to be heard, even though I brought a baby home with me.

You may think that I would find comfort in bonding with other mothers who have lost only one twin. And sometimes, yes, I do. Other times, I just feel more alone when I can't relate to what they are saying or vice versa. I wish more of the women I have "met" would blog about the loss of a 3rd trimester or full-term healthy twin, but they don't for whatever reason, and I must respect that. However, I'd be lying if I said that doesn't amplify my feelings of isolation, as there are limited blogs for me to read that reflect my experience. We chat on FB and communicate via forums, which I find incredibly helpful, but I need blogs. If more women who suffered a full-term loss of one or both twins put themselves out there, then perhaps future twinlostmamas coming home with less than two babies from the hospital wouldn't feel so freakish and alone. (I say that to include mamas who have lost one or both.)

* * * * * * * * *

I posted about grief-induced manic-depression and feel that calls for some sort of explanation but am not sure how to convey it here. A stillbirth and a live birth within three minutes. Just try, try, try to imagine that. I know, it’s impossible. I still can’t imagine it, and I lived it. I’ve said before it was the best and the worst day of my life.
I’ve heard other mothers who have lost one twin or triplet say that they felt numb, that the pain and the joy kind of cancelled each other out.
I did not experience numbness. If I ever said I did or blogged that I did, I take it back. This is one of the ways I feel so different than others in my kind of situation.
I experienced extremes, and those extremes continue on a daily basis. That is the polar opposite of feeling nothing.
As a result, I compartmentalize. I put my pain over here, and my joy over there.

And THAT, my friends, is why I feel manic depressive.

I’m forever in this in-between place, stuck grieving my son while celebrating my daughter. To solely focus on one at the expense of the other would be so incredibly unfair to myself and to them. I must juggle, and in that respect I truly still am a parent of twins, even today as I type this.

* * * * * * * * *

You will probably think this next section stems from my bitterness at what happened to me or think I am denial about what I truly lost. Go ahead and think away. You might be right, but I don't think so. Parenting twins from what I’ve heard from countless mothers is largely a big juggling act. Many twin moms say they never feel they are doing a good enough job. There is this nagging feeling of failure. Any time both babies are crying, they can only comfort one. They have enough love in their hearts for two, as any parent with more than one child does, but they can’t focus on more than one baby at once, and with twins their milestones are in sync and so there is always one baby taking a back seat to the other with any step. The moms express feeling more bonded to the “good” baby, and there’s horrible guilt that ensues from that. Basically, the gist of it is they feel perpetual dissatisfaction at never being a good enough parent to both twins.

It’s the truth of parenting multiples that these moms only discuss with other women in the “twin club” (as outsiders may simply judge them or say they are taking things for granted or throwing a pity party), and I was exposed to all of that for my entire pregnancy. It never diminished the love I felt so intensely for both of my sweet babies. It never made me wish I was only pregnant with one baby. But what I want to emphasize is that most people outside of that community have a hard time “getting it” because they don’t see the whole picture (or haven't really thought about it, haven't heard about it or been exposed to it). The real deal, where you learn what it’s really like from everyday moms, not the romanticized version you see and hear about with celebrity’s twins who have several nannies taking care of them, the matchy matchy clothes, coordinating Halloween costumes, and weekend-long festivals dedicated to twin status.

Society definitely puts it up on a pedestal, but ask any OB, and they will tell you that the womb was not designed to carry more than one baby. Carrying more than one is not what’s best for your child(ren), so no…It’s not a jackpot to land twins or triplets. I don't know where that idea originates. Obviously being able to get pregnant at all is an absolute blessing, but it just stings when people put the twin thing up there as the most "perfect blessing". (I'll admit it; I felt "special" too...Until my son died. Now I will NEVER build a woman up solely on account of her pregnancy - whether it's one or two or six babies, pregnancy is nothing you should say makes someone "special", nor is their pregnancy something you should be "proud" of them for. I'm actual in therapy partially due to people building up my self esteem through my pregnancy and consequent feelings of failure and lack of "specialness" now). Let's stop the hype, people. Twins are cute, fine. But this "perfect blessing from above" means higher risks all the way through the pregnancy, and many times a constant feeling of inadequacy during or after pregnancy (or both). A feeling of so busy you don’t get to stop and soak up their infancy (I hear). People constantly referring to your children as “the twins” with little regard to their names or individualities. Unwelcome attention and ridiculous questions from strangers. For many moms, their twins may be their only pregnancy (as I had figured mine would be, which is a topic for another day), and they find the time flies by so fast with multiple babies that they didn’t have time to breathe, didn’t have time to keep their own sense of identity intact, didn’t have time to stay connected to their husband, etc. I remember on the twin forums reading about the high rates of divorce after twins, and it terrified me. That the loss of identity outside of being a mother to twins was a very real phenomenon. That countless moms posted about having no friends in addition to their lack of identity.

Now, I have to worry about my marriage on account of having lost a child, not because we have twins. Now, I have to worry about my loss of identity because I may solely become "the woman who lost a son", not because my identity is simply twin mom. I've never heard a story with more irony than mine, and it's never a funny irony but one that sinks my heart.

Why I am writing all of this here I don’t really know. I can think of a few possible reasons.

First, maybe I want to “look on the bright side” or find that "silver lining" to my situation, as many babylostmamas tend to try and do (although I’d give anything to have my son back and would suffer those hardships for his sake in a heartbeat because I already loved him from the day I knew about him!).

Or, maybe I want to just put people in check who sit there and idealize the twin thing, because let's face it - it does far more harm than good, regardless of whether the twins survive or not. (And it's a lie anyway.) If one or both of the twins die, you are setting the family up to feel they have even more to grieve; you are making the loss more massive than it already is. And if both babies do survive, their reality won't likely live up to how much you've built it up for them, which (I'm guessing here) could only add to the feelings of inadequacy that many twin mamas already experience.

Another possibility - maybe I want to help other mothers who have lost one twin to “let go” of the twin fantasy.

Maybe I need to let go of that fantasy myself, as I will admit that I am still grieving the loss of my “twins”. I still struggle every day to not obsess over the fact that I should have twins here to snuggle and raise. I have to stop myself from thinking about how perfect it would all be. Again with the romanticizing. I am guilty as charged.

Maybe it's a little of all of these combined, but more so, I think the reason is this:
I am just angry as hell, because I will always feel like if my son and daughter were conceived during separate pregnancies, then I may have been able to avoid this pain. I'd rather them just both be here, alive, than have carried that special twin "status". All of our issues were related to the twin thing. Even though my OB says this wasn't twin-related, I have done my research. Placental issues are more common with twins. Stillbirths are more common with twins. My daughter being small for gestational age is because she had to share my womb. ALL of my pregnancy issues were related to it being twins. The excessive vomiting, GERD, preterm labor, bedrest, and in my non-medical opinion possibly our loss. So when I hear people idealize it, I just want to freaking PUKE. Especially when they know my story and shouldn't be so seemingly ignorant. Especially when they are babylostmamas.

I also find myself thinking a lot lately about what that means – to be a twin, to have a twin, etc. How much of it is real and how much of it is imagined? Is there anything to it beside being born at the same time? Women in the loss community (who have living twins) tell me that in all honesty their twins are no more bonded to each other than they are to their singleton children. They love their twins, just as they love all of their children, but confirm that the picture they had painted in their minds during pregnancy (about what it would be like to have twins) is mostly a lie that society perpetuates. That there is no secret language shared by twins, that it may or may not exist for any two siblings, that having a set of twins doesn't make the family have this perfect balance.

There was a study in which researchers interviewed different twin types and asked them to pick who they would save if they could only save one person on the earth (I forget the actual wording of it or where the hell I saw this…), and most identical twins wanted to save their twin first, while fraternals were much less likely to give that response. Fraternal boy girl twins were in fact found to be least likely to respond that they would save their twin (most of them said both parents first). The studies showed b/g twins to be the least bonded of all the twin types. All of these things help me sort through what is real and what I may have built up in my mind. Or what others built up in my mind about the “perfect family” I was creating. I don’t know what it would really be like, because Elias is not here with us, so I try not to stay stuck in that place of imaginings. I assume that many women with boy girl twins are told millions of times “One of each, ooohhhhh, how perfect!” only to see their fairy tale ending isn’t reality, one way or another.

And I will not sit here and accept that my daughter will forever feel something missing, because that is just BULL and diminishes her being her own full healthy whole person.

* * * * * * * * *

At the end of the day, I have shifted from the twin club to the DBC.
And you know what? I still very much feel that I am parenting twins.
In much different ways, obviously, and I’ve written about that before, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around this.
I struggle between feeling like I am never grieving my son right or raising my daughter right due to one twin pulling me away from the other.
When I am sad I feel like a crappy mother to Evelyn, and when I am happy I feel horrible that my son isn’t around to enjoy it with me.
I feel society is judging me for the way I parent each of my children.
Many people judge me for even surviving this, “Oh I would just die!” while others judge me for being sad, "Oh you should just enjoy your new daughter! This time goes soooo fast; just ENJOY!!!"

And I feel that women in both of these clubs don't truly accept my membership, either, and want me to give my card back.

I.can’t.freaking.win. My life is a constant juggling act. This feeling? Sounds a hell of a lot like what those mothers to living twins express. Yet I can't go on a twin forum and vent about it, because I would just be that "horror story", even though I'm not. I'm a human being, not a horror story.

I feel I still deserve my “mother to twins” card, even though only one of my twins is here with me physically, even though other twin moms would probably disagree and say I don’t have it because I only have one child to diaper, bathe, and feed. My heart is constantly being ripped in two, as part of it stays here while another part of it wants to journey afar to find my beloved Elias. I am being pulled apart by the seams, and many mothers to twins (the ones who will tell you the real deal) say that that’s what it feels like to have two babies the same age. I’d obviously rather be in their position than mine, even with their complaints, and I will forever miss that opportunity to have my own twins, but it’s such a strange feeling to try to “let go” of the twin thing (and fully acknowledge that it is a fantasy largely not rooted in reality), while still feeling that I am very much a mother to twins in many aspects of the word.

I always feel like I am and am not something at the very same time. One foot in the twin club with the other foot in the DBC.

The loss of my son, the loss of "twins", the feeling of failure, the insecurities about my marriage, the fear that I will be incapable of doing my job due to my grief - those things have me feeling lower than low. One little thing can set me off. All it takes is the wrong comment from my husband to trigger my insecurities, and I spiral down. Friends around me are starting new marriages while I watch mine seemingly fall apart. I watch women flaunt their twins (or even triplets, which to me just seems like a cruel cosmic joke) out in public, and I feel toyed with. My entire day could be ruined just by a glimpse of a double stroller, and half the time they aren't even twins, but I imagine they are.

Am I still holding on to the twin fantasy? Maybe. Or maybe I just miss my son, and I want my double stroller back, because I wouldn't have had to return it if he'd lived.

Then my daughter smiles at me and cackles, and I feel on top of the freaking world again. I had convinced myself that I would never birth a living child (after my traumatic miscarriage), and so when I look at her and how amazing she is, an incredible feeling grips me. I think about how lucky we are to even have her, as I know how fragile life is. I think about women who lost both twins at term or women who will never have the experience of carrying their own baby ever, and I think okay, this isn't so bad. I think if I can learn to live without my son somehow, then I must be this invincible person with a strength I never knew existed in me. I think, what's the point in ever worrying or stressing over things in life when nothing is truly in our power? And that is so freeing to me. I think about how Elias would want me to live fully and be happy, so I have little tolerance for minor complaints and for a lack of spontaneity. My son has changed me so deeply, and most days I feel that he has changed me for the better. I look at my husband snuggling with my daughter, and my heart just melts. I am overwhelmed by how lucky I am to have them both here and our son waiting for us when it's our time. I fall in love with my husband all over again and think about how solid we are to have sustained this horrible pain. It seems our relationship is shatterproof. I realize we have been together for over a decade, and my insecurities fade (only to return when I am having a bad day, of course, and then I wonder with how much I have changed, are we still compatible? Will this still work?)

I feel more alive than I ever have in my entire life, but my son is dead. That is the single most confusing point to me.

My sister once told me, "I imagine things now will forever be shades of gray to you."

I thought for a few minutes, and said, "No, it's more like when I'm missing him, it hurts more than anything I ever imagined in my entire life, and I feel like I'm going to break in half from the pain. I feel it fully, and then I put it away for a while and try to honor him by enjoying the life I have left. On good days, it actually seems there are fewer shades of gray, and colors shine more vibrantly than ever before."

What I don't know is whether that vibrancy comes from my son or my daughter, and I hate not knowing myself anymore.

I hate not being able to trace the raindrops that form a puddle back to the clouds from where they fell.

I am not sad 24/7. For realz.

I feel a responsibility of sorts to push all the other blogposts I have floating around my head to the backburner for awhile and just say something.

So here it goes:

I am not sad 24/7.

For realz.

No joke, no fingers crossed, no bull.

I remember in the early days a coworker came to visit (yes, the same one I mentioned in a previous post about over-sharing). She brought a gift for Evelyn (cute girly outfits), and she also brought a gift in memory of Elias (a children’s book. I cried.).

I was still so early out that I was in complete and utter shock over what happened (this was maybe a month post-loss, if that). I said, “I think my life is going to be ruined by this.” When she asked me to elaborate on how I came to this conclusion, I simply said, “Look at the babyloss blogs. They are full of misery.”

Now, this woman had no idea what I was even talking about. So I had to kind of explain what the BLM community is and how many blogs there are floating around in cyberspace written by women whose losses completely destroyed their lives. Jobs lost, marriages ruined, no future children, multiple losses, no hope for the future, etc.

I had such fear in my heart and in my expression when I looked at her and said, “Will that be me?! Is this it? The best of my life is OVER, and I’m not even thirty years old? It’s just all downhill from here on out?!”

She simply responded, “Everybody grieves differently.”

I sighed, and let that comfort me as best it could. I moped for days thinking about how further down the road, once the shock of it all had worn off, I may be ruined by my loss like so many other BLM seemed to be ruined by theirs.

One day I logged into Facebook to find this message from her: “You said that you read a lot of the blogs and women never recover from the loss of a baby. But women do recover...or at least learn to move on. The blogs you are reading are from the women who have a difficult time moving on. The women who have managed to forge ahead with their lives are busy with their families, friends, careers, etc. and probably don't visit the sites as much as the women who are having a difficult time. I am not writing this to upset you...not even a little. I'm hoping that this will make some sense and help you in some way. You can tell me to shut up if you'd like. But just know that I'm thinking of you and wish you nothing but peace and happiness.”

Now, I know what some of you bloggers are thinking. And I agree, some of her words could cause offense (especially to those of us who are very raw in our pain). I don’t equate blogging with “having no life”, which is what she seemed to imply, and I recognize that part of what she wanted to communicate to me was that I need to enjoy my daughter and not spend all my time reading loss blogs. (Come on, that’s a good point, people.) But that wasn’t even the main point. She was trying to help me see that the loss blogs are only snippets and not necessarily representative of the entire loss community.

Her words seemed genuine enough, and I knew they came from the right place, so I started to think it over. And while I don’t completely agree with everything she said (I think you can blog but still have a life, or I at least like to tell myself that), I have my own version of the point she was trying to make: Most BLMs go to their blogs when they are having a horrible day. It’s cheap therapy. Get online, type type type, and not feel so “about to throw someone out a window”-ish. The blogposts created from such sob-sessions are clearly not indicative of the whole person behind them. They are a sliver of that person, a snapshot in time, a moment of pain so heavy that it requires sharing to lighten, a fear so sharp it needs expression to cut a little less. I am “guilty” of this myself, in that I don’t want this blog to become where I only go to vent, cry, rage, and whine. That hardly represents my grief journey in its entirety.

Yes, I mainly use this as a therapeutic tool, but I feel a sort of responsibility to say…to any future babylostmama that may come across this blog after losing her baby someday…I know I am over seven months out from my loss, but given that right now I would consider I am having a “low” point, I want to be honest about what that actually looks like. Aside from my moments where tears are falling.

-I still function.

-Most days, I even shower, brush my teeth, and do my makeup (still working on the whole flossing thing).

-I make an attempt to find clothes that fit and convey some aspect of my personality (challenging with the weight grief, not carrying twins, has added to my body).

- I do not live off of junk food and donuts, like The Secret Life of an American Teenager would have you believe. (One of the main characters just suffered stillbirth and frequents Dunkin' a bit much.) I sometimes eat breakfast. I always eat lunch. Not only do I eat dinner, but I have gotten into finding recipes to try, and we have fresh organic produce delivered every week to my husband’s workplace in an effort to learn how to be “grown-ups”. I have enjoyed cooking lately when I never cared to before, so I’d say I am developing new interests, which is not common for someone “depressed”.

-I regularly go grocery-shopping and run other errands and enjoy doing so.

-I recently went to a movie in a theater (haven’t done that since I was pregnant and saw Eat, Pray, Love) and saw a comedy. And I laughed, real laughs, not fake canned ones. More than once. (It was Bridesmaids.)

- I have listened to people complaining about trivial things, like the weather, without screaming, "Did your baby die?! No?! Well then shutthehellup!!!"

-I love Pandora radio and am a huge dork about it. I'm a big fan of trip-hop and post-punk and a variety of genres, and I sit there with Pandora open, and whenever it plays a song I love, I add it to my playlist on playlist.com. (I’m usually cleaning or something while I have it on.) I love showing off my awesome playlist when people come to visit.

-I attempt to work out and do yoga, although some efforts are more successful than others.

-I have composed mindless Facebook status updates (which for many months I wouldn't have cared to even try to do).

- I am sometimes able to make small talk with neighbors and acquaintances (not even kidding).

- I love to go shopping (which may possibly be retail therapy, I realize), and I love to kind of splurge and pamper myself after all the bedrest and…well, trauma I’ve endured.

-I have held a male infant without totally losing my sh*t, and if I’m being honest here…I didn’t even think about my son when I held him. He absolutely positively was not a trigger. I had a great day that day and didn’t shed a single tear, actually. (Although if I had held my daughter at the same time, I think that would have been a trigger.)

-I spend time preparing myself for novels I will be teaching this upcoming school year and am excited about the challenges that lie ahead with my career.

-I am still very much in love with my husband, although we both have a lot of work to do individually and in our marriage.

-Not to brag, but I am not exactly lacking in the friends / social engagements department. I am not some recluse who sits at home all day. I connect with others easily – loss and non-loss people. It's true; some friendships do not survive tragedy, but it doesn’t matter at the end of the day. If I can learn to live without my son somehow, then I can learn to live without fake friends.

-I have this new ability to throw things out that before I would have become overly emotionally attached to. (goes along with my last statement above!)

- 99% of people I interact with do not treat me like I have the plague. (Some might say, the dead baby plague.)

-I find joy in focusing on myself as a whole person, not as just the woman who lost a baby (or the woman who just had a living baby!).

-I revel in the blessing that is motherhood; I don’t take my daughter for granted; I don’t allow my daughter to be a constant trigger for my sadness at the loss of her brother.

-I have learned the complicated but useful psychological art of compartmentalization, and it has helped to save my life.

-I have moments where, in thinking about Elias, my heart fills with so much love for him – pure love unscathed by his death.

In the early days, I did not believe I would ever find joy again. I did not believe I would ever have a regular conversation again without my mind wandering to my son. I did not believe anybody would ever want to spend time with me. I thought I was cursed and would only bring pain to everybody around me. I did not believe I would be anybody other than "that poor woman who carried twins and lost one".

I realize that my loss is different than the loss of a singleton, just like the loss of one triplet is different than the loss of one twin, just like stillbirth is different from SIDS, and the list goes on. Every loss is different and yet the same. Losing one baby but still bringing another home from the hospital is different than coming home with empty arms.

It’s not easier, it’s not more difficult, it’s just different.

But differences aside, grief is grief, loss is loss, and I feel a sense of responsibility to say this today:

I am not destroyed.

It's Oh So Quiet. Shhh...shhh.

Just a quick note to say that although my blog has been a bit quiet lately, I have a TON of blogposts brewing in my head. I have so much to say. Good, bad, beautiful, ugly, and everything in between. Not sure who is really reading or why or if there's much benefit, but for me this blog has been incredibly therapeutic.

I lament the fact that I have no time to sit and focus on my writing. This blog is failing in the respect that it does not reflect my life or what is really going on. You just get little "snippets". I realize that is true of most blogs, but mine still really needs some love and attention. My mind needs some love and attention. But I don't give it any. I am too busy trying to keep up a house, care for a baby, mourn the baby I lost, put the pieces of my marriage back together, maintain some semblance of a social life, lose weight (HA), redo most of my wardrobe that either no longer fits or suits my taste, learn how to cook like a grown-up for my family's sake, and prepare for teaching a new prep this upcoming school year. And if I'm lucky, catch a few hours of sleep.

I don't really get "me" time.

No, I am not complaining. I realize that a big part of my lack of having me time is that I have a living child to be grateful for - to clothe, bathe, feed, shop for, put down for naps, kiss, hug, and play with. All the things I miss out on with my son. I love my daughter so incredibly much and feel so blessed to have her here. But that doesn't mean that sometimes I really wish I could just have a couple of hours of interrupted focused time with which to write, which has been one of my passions nearly all of my life.

I miss it.

I just wanted to let you know that this blog is not intended to be so quiet. I want to capture more of my life here - the joys and sorrows, intertwined sometimes while at other times independent of one another.