Am I Still Worthy?

August 26, 2019

By Sanda Rathamone

"You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book." - Psalm 56:8

"Do you have any cravings?" 
"Mmm, not much. Maybe some spicy stuff, mostly sweet."
"Are you hoping for a boy or girl?"
"Mmm, well, I already have a little girl. She wants a brother. I go back and forth, I don't know, maybe another girl." 

I sat on my chair in the break room, wanting to shut my ears, feeling angst, irritation, hurt, jealous. I couldn't stand listening to their conversation. I can't help, but to remember my cravings - oh how I miss having cravings, or anything to do with being pregnant! And then, after hearing "boy or girl," that did it. I had to leave, I needed to get away or cry or shout or punch a wall or hyperventilate or vomit. I need to be alone.

Please, don't say you want a boy. Or girl. Just a healthy baby. A healthy, live baby. 

I should have been nice, I should have chimed in, "Aww, that's cute. She wants a little brother?! She would make a great big sister!" I mean, it's not like I didn't know; it has been a couple weeks since she told me that she was having, "another one on the way." She couldn't have been more than a couple or few months along, she was barely showing.

Every now and then, I hear someone congratulating her, shocked to find out that a coworker is expecting. And now that I know - every time I see her - I touch my empty womb. I. Am. Still. Waiting... 

It has been two months since I graduated from massage school, and nearly a month into starting my career at a spa where I had externed during my training. After all this time, I am STILL not ready for pregnant clients, though one of my goals were to be doula. I don't know if I want to be anymore - at least, not until we finally have our take-home baby. I don't think I will ever feel any "better" or the slightest "comfortable" around pregnant women, unless my baby is here.

I don't know what it will be like to witness a coworker become more pregnant each day. I don't know if I can handle watching her become fuller with life and the curious hands that will rub her belly. I don't know if this will discourage me from going to work or dampen my days. And I don't know if I can bear more conversations about her pregnancy, while I find out yet again, that I am not pregnant. I don't even know if I am worthy of a baby anymore.

I have this fear that I will succumb to my old ways and obsess over having another baby. Or take another test, hoping again and again for that miracle sign. I found myself talking to the water, praying, asking Elijah to bring us a baby to take home. With tears filling my eyes and sorrow stuck in my throat, I feel so ashamed, so small, guilty; to ask for such a thing feels all wrong. I should know by now not to ask, pray, or beg anymore.

Last night, my sister gave me a packet of M&Ms. Then, out of nowhere, a bag of sour gummy worms. I don't think I ate those things again after Elijah died; it has been a few years. So, for every worm I ate, I thought of how much Elijah had enjoyed them because they were his favorite. I thought of how he and his daddy would be fishing together. I thought of how much fun we would have had.

I may not be worthy of a baby, but I am of a moment of happy memories.

With love,
Must Read:
Read Elijah's Story, "From Gender Reveal to a Spontaneous Delivery"

Photo: mebiebaby

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