It really “’tis the damn season”

When the legendary Taylor Swift (Yes, I did just refer to TSwift as a legend. She is. Honestly, I’m willing to go to the mat against anyone on this.) released evermore, her 9th studio album, on Friday December 11th I was…verklempt. Sure, I’m a bit of a drama queen as it is (where my Tauruses at???), but our due date for Baby G #1 was fast approaching & I was quarantining alone in our second bedroom awaiting for a Covid-19 test. It was not a great time for me. I mean, literally nothing is great after child-loss. But I was feeling especially melancholy being isolated & anxiety-ridden freaking out about an untreatable, still very unknown virus that is still sweeping the whole. damn. world. Anywhoooo. I really & truly felt like Taylor was, & is, speaking to me with this album. I grew up in the very angsty 2000s, as a very angsty teen. So, an emotional album written by someone my age really is right up my alley. And surprisingly comforting.

There’s quite a lot I could say about this complicated time of year, but here’s what I will focus on. When we found out we were pregnant on April 10, 2019 I knew what my due date would be immediately. (That’s what anxiety & tons of constant research does to you.) December 16th, 2019. It was perfect because I had recently decided, like literally the month before, to quit my first teaching job (surprise, surprise, we got pregnant the month after I quit…). The new school where I had accepted a job had already posted the calendar for the next school year. December 16th fell on the Monday of the week that our Christmas break would start. Teachers don’t get paid maternity leaves, & I worked for a Catholic district where maternity leave is granted per school, by the administration. Stressful, in an already stressful situation. So, yes, two weeks “free” for the beginning of my maternity leave was a nice little gift, if you will. I joked to friends that I was “so annoyed” our baby would have an almost Christmas birthday. “Any advice on how to not make my kid hate their birthday or Christmas?! Ha ha ha!” Secretly, it was the best effing present we could’ve hoped for after 8 months of TTC (trying to conceive). What the hell else is even remotely more romantic than a Christmas baby? Not. A. Damn. Thing. I had already filled my head with a constant vision board filled with images of memories, pictures of & with our little miracle, presents, outfits…

Hell. We were so excited, our nursery is done, y’all. Crib? Free? Dresser? Free. Chest of drawers/changing table? Free. Glider? Purchased. My sweet & talented mother made me a tapestry of a momma & baby elephant for my birthday/Mother’s Day (I was born in & adopted from India where elephants are sacred so they have played a big role in my life, & been a constant theme & thread.). I bawled, of course. My birthday is May 3rd, but my mom couldn’t resist making & giving me something for Mother’s Day the weekend before on my actual birthday. She had also given us a life-size giraffe. Snuck into our house & plopped it down in the nursery without our knowing. (Apparently Stephen had mentioned that this was his favorite animal when we went to the Cincinnati Zoo one time? Neither of us have any memory of this…but neither of us will cop to that truth to my mother, either.) A baby animal theme quickly took shape & Stephen secretly ordered 4 sketches of baby animals to hang on the walls of the nursery. Guess when they arrived? Yup. You guessed it. AFTER May 9th, the day we found out there was likely no more Baby G in me.

That glittery, sepia-toned vision board was promptly shaken clean from my brain like an Etch a Sketch as soon as we heard: “I don’t really know what’s happening, I can’t legally tell you. But, I am having trouble locating the gestational sac.” I immediately went into survival mode & have quite honestly been emotionally numb & dead to the world since that day. It’s like I started to freeze over & solidify in that state. I only started to thaw this past Saturday; 3 days after what would’ve been Baby G’s 1st Birthday. (My husband & I still celebrated with champagne.) That’s 590 days of frozen survival mode, ya’ll. My body aches. My bones creak. I’m stiff & feel vulnerable & naked.

Unfortunately, the reminder of what we have so desperately wanted, tried, & prayed for is exemplified by the holiday season. Every year. Truth be told, when you lose a child – no matter what stage of life – that loss always stays with you; but Christmas as a childless married couple desperate to parent a child is one of life’s cruelest jokes. We’re running the full gambit of emotions this year; especially since we’ve decided to quit beating around the bush & after 18 months of trying for a rainbow on our “own,” we’re seeking the expertise of a nationally renowned fertility specialist (basically in our own backyard, we’re lucky as hell – I know this). Our consultation is Monday, December 28th at 3:00 p.m. A huge part of me feels like a failure, but another part of me is relieved, excited, & ready.

December is complicated for so many people. Most people are walking around fake smiles plastered on their faces because they’re breaking & ripping apart at the seams. So, be kind. Think about others who are not in your position. (That’s called empathy, folks.) Maybe bitch about your kids just a little less; especially to those who are childless against their every hope, wish, desire, & effort? Idk. Just a thought. It’s revolutionary, I know.

~ Thanks for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.

‘Tis the damn season, write this down.

Taylor Swift ’tis the damn season