My Game Face

I've always had this amazing ability to respond to stressful and emergency situations. I stay cool, I think clearly and strategically, and I get the job done. DH and I have always jokingly referred to it as my "military attack mode." Whatever. It works, so you can't really knock it.

It's served me well over the years, both personally and professionally. I'd venture to say that both coworkers and friends alike would have me pretty high on their emergency phone tree. I've pulled off complicated events that seemed no-win situations, avoided disasters, stopped people from bleeding, and been a first-responder on many a traumatic scene.

But afterwards? I typically lose my shit. I shake, I cry, and when it finally hits me what just happened I finally get to let the emotions wash over me and then I'm all better.

This time? Not so much.

I'm pretty effing proud of my game face. I got through appointments with specialists and a call into a Dr.'s office that was straight out of a bad Lifetime movie. I had two doctors stand together and tell me that there was zero chance that my baby would live and that it would be better to let it go now rather than allow it to be crushed in a uterus that would never expand. We both teared up, asked a few questions, and then walked out of the doctor's office with a no doubts in our mind that this was the only way.

I'm not going to lie. I cried like a baby. I sobbed and collapsed into my husband's arms in the hospital hallway. We continued to hold each other up and drag each other to the car where I had to lean out of the door as I dry heaved from my sobs. And like an out of body experience, I can almost see us in that same hallway in my head.

I cried each time I talked to someone new. I cried when I thought about what was about to happen, what my baby might already be going through, and for all that I was losing. I thought that all of this crying meant that I "got it."

I had such a clear understanding of what lay before me--I was about to labor and deliver a baby that wouldn't live. I worried that this would taint all future deliveries and I forced myself to look at the bright side at every possible angle.

Game face=on.

But I guess I didn't know it at the time that it was my military attack mode taking over. I felt very sad, but still relatively clear headed considering the circumstances. I was proud of being able to go through labor and delivery and remaining calm.

I was so happy that I changed my mind on my labor plan as I realized that my baby needed me and everything that I could offer her. I would not trade those moments with her for anything.

But now? I'm back at work and apparently the game face has left me. Life is moving on and I'm realizing what I must now carry with me for the rest of my life--I'm a momma to a baby who died. This will never ever change no matter how much time passes or how life changes in the meantime... Wow.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still very much grateful for the life that I have and the love of both my husband and my sweet baby Jude, but at the same time, I guess I just don't have the clarity that I had a week ago. Everything feels so cloudy and overwhelming.

I can't believe that my baby was taken away from me. I can't believe that this all happened. I can't believe that my DH and I have the cremains of our child in a little box on a shelf.

I can't believe that I'm not pregnant anymore. I was so, so proud to be carrying my husband's baby and to be opening the door to the next stage of our life together. I can't believe that trying to conceive, getting pregnant, and feeling secure in having a healthy baby is so, so fucking far away.

This hasn't changed what I want. I want to be a momma to a baby who gets to stay. But the problem is that more than anything I want to be the momma to a baby who just isn't here anymore.