The fear was crippling, like I was standing in the middle of an island all on my own with no roadmap to anything I knew. How could I take care of a baby when I didn’t even know if I could care for myself? What foods would it eat, how would I hold it? Would it sleep in my arms or only in a crib?
Should I have been calling the baby “it”? Or “he” or “she” now? Where was the line?
I’d been reading parenting books like crazy the past three weeks and knew I would never know enough.
I knew how to get a hundred on a test. I could look up my score and know exactly how I’d done. If I got a ninety, I’d try harder the next time. Never did I give up when it came to any subject. I aced AP Trigonometry, outscored every other student in the school on my ACT testing, and could speak two languages fluently.
With a baby, though, I’d never get a grade. No one would ever tell me if I was doing it all right, and even if they did, it was completely and utterly subjective.
I took a deep breath. If I had the child, I would be barreling into the unknown and wasn’t sure if the barrel was going to roll the right way.
I wanted babies, eventually, I knew that. I wanted little beautiful babies that called me Momma and some guy Dadda. I couldn’t put that on Dante, though.
Even now, I hadn’t told him. I had to be sure.
I smiled at the thought of kids with his green eyes. He’d be a perfect dad, even if I didn’t know crap about being a mom.
“Delilah Hardy?” The nurse waved me in for the twelve week appointment and went through all her questions. Everything was fast in that this was a routine check-up for them, even though it was brand new and life-changing for me.
She squirted gel onto a wand and rubbed it over my belly. “Let’s grab that heartbeat really quick, and then we’ll have Dr. Pally come in to go over any questions you have.”
“Okay,” I breathed.
She rubbed that wand over my belly again and again.
Over and over.
That fast little heartbeat I’d heard the first time was pure silence this time.
The look on her face grew more and more concerned. “Sometimes I’m not great at catching the little guys. Let me grab the doc.”
A doctor came in, then another. Searching now transvaginally for that heartbeat again and again as my own heartbeat grew faster and faster.
“Is something wrong?” I asked. How was I so concerned when I wasn’t even sure I wanted a baby?
“We’re just checking some things.” Dr. Pally patted my shoulder.
They switched tactics as my mind shifted to worst-case scenarios.
“You lost the baby, Ms. Hardy. I’m so sorry.”
It only took three months for my body to prove to me I couldn’t do everything right and that I couldn’t do the most basic biological thing that women were designed to do well.
“I lost the baby?” I stared down at my stomach, confused.
My heart beat loud.
Too loud.
And all by itself now, no little one to accompany it like it had for weeks.
“But how? I didn’t do anything wrong,” I whispered. I’d eaten all the right foods. I’d done all the right things. I hardly even moved, I was so scared to hurt her or him.
See, I was even using pronouns.
“Sometimes this just happens. It’s not your fault. Let’s run some tests and…”
Nothing they said to me mattered after that. She’d said it wasn’t my fault as if there was room for it to be. My mind scoured over everything I’d eaten that week, everything I’d done, how I’d slept. Had I slept on my stomach and hurt the baby? Was that possible?