Evidently, I’m a glutton for punishment.
As of Monday, I began babysitting an adorable 1 1/2 year old boy. Worst choice I ever could have made. I’m falling in love with him. His mother is not my cup of tea, but that’s generally how I feel about all women.
By Tuesday, I had already decided that I couldn’t do this. I walked in to their home as he was getting ready for breakfast. He sat in his high chair, clumsily spooning his cereal into his tiny mouth. His strawberries, cut up into tiny pieces, fell into the pouch of his bib as his tiny, chubby fingers struggled to grasp them. I wept. This is not fair.
I toughed it out. Crying most days after returning home.
On the way home, I’ve tried to stop several times at the herbal store that I mentioned previously. I’m not ready. I cannot let go. I thought I was comfortable, but the idea of helping what was supposed to be my baby in another 28 weeks or so exit my body is killing me.
Today I was supposed to babysit again. I woke up, it was still fairly dark. I was cramping again. The reality that this will happen soon is hard to swallow. I couldn’t handle it while caring for another child who, barely more than 2 years ago, was what I expected to have by now. I should have a growing, ever-changing fetus in me right now. I should be able to make an appointment for 8 weeks from now to find out the sex. I should be helping my mother to plan our baby shower. I should be reading all the books people have sent me. Learning about the infant that will be in my arms in just a few short months.
It’s not happening.
I’m not going to be anyone’s mother.
The little boy I babysit cuddles up to his mother and I die a little inside.
I want this more than anything.
I cancelled my babysitting appointment today. I tried to go back to bed, but the pain, physical and emotional, was too distracting.
I’ve had a slight fever intermittently for about a week now, maybe a little more. With the cramps and the nausea and the fever, I’m wondering if I’m developing an infection. Part of me doesn’t even care.
In addition to my cramps, my breasts have felt sore all morning. The way I feel is identical to how I felt when I first got pregnant. Before I even knew. Having all the symptoms come back. Knowing that it means nothing. I know very well that I have no child. This is worse than when my symptoms went away. When I suddenly could sleep without a bra on and was able to wear my favorite jeans again and no longer get up to pee 5 times in the night. That was terrifying. I knew that meant that hormones were dropping. That there was no hope anymore. I still know there’s no hope. But my body is reminding me of all the uncomfortable things that began happening just 2 months ago. The things I complained about incessantly. The things I wish I hadn’t complained about. The things that make me feel guilty because I would give ANYTHING to have the back if it meant that my baby was okay. I’ll take the weight gain. The body changes. The aches, the pains, the illness. The mood swings. The night sweats. All of it. I miss it. People keep telling me, “At least you don’t feel sick anymore.” No. No amount of nausea and exhaustion could compare to the pain of knowing that that child you dreamed of and had such great hopes for, the child who you may eventually have called Lily or Oliver, will never be here.