February 1, 2006: 9:06 AM Olivia is born. My mom cried, my Dad, beaming rushed to call his family and tell them that he is a grandpa. I am heartbroken. Unable to even comprehend my grief. The first grandbaby should have been mine, three years ago, not an angel in heaven but one here on earth. I’m angry that I should have to endure the pain of not only that loss but the loss of my ability to give birth. I’m angry that I’ll never need an epidural, or look down at a baby and I think “We made this life”.

I’m hurt because no one remembers the baby I loved and wanted. No one will celebrate with us at our children’s births. No rushed phone calls, no family gathering at the hospital. The grandmas won’t come out to visit and the aunts and uncles won’t care to get the call. I worry that our family won’t love our baby as much, that they won’t be special…that I don’t get to be special. No 9 months of pampering and tlc here. I suffer silently and no one cares to ask how hard this is for me. I don’t get a day, not an ounce of attention. All I have is an empty nursery and an empty uterus. I won’t get a baby shower where I’m the center of attention, no one will care about our baby.

I’m scared that I will fall in love and she will too and I’ll end up broken hearted again. Worse yet that I won’t fall in love at all and I’ll never know how it feels to be a mom. I shouldn’t have to wait, or be patient, or be kind. I’m not allowed to be upset or jealous or hormonal. I am mourning a loss I thought I’d moved past…yet there I sat at the bottom of the tub, sobbing for an hour with shower water running. There are no prescriptions for the pain I’m in. So I watch the celebration, inside dying every day I wait a little more for someone who should have arrived a long time ago.