Welcome to my blog

A blog about miscarrriage, infertility, pregnancy, birth and mothering. My name is Emily and this is the story of my journey in motherhood.

Friday, January 14, 2011

A Package

Last night when I picked up the mail, I got a little slip from Post Canada saying I had a package to pick up. First I thought it was the new clothes I had ordered; next I thought it might be my degree. Today I was excited about picking up my package all day, every time I went into my purse I saw the slip reminding me I had a surprise to pick up at the end of the day.

I stopped at the post office on the way home, handed the girl my slip, and wondered, would it be my degree? That would be so exciting! What would I do to celebrate? Or it might be my new clothes, just in time, I would have something new to wear to church. The girl emerged from the back room, a large box in hand, it had to the clothes (but I just purchased them two days ago, how could they get here so fast?).

She handed me the box, I scoured it for an address, what was this? Finally I spotted the address, Nestle. What??? And then my stomach dropped and I no longer wanted to take that box home. It was some silly free thing I had signed up for at the maternity store when I was pregnant with baby number three. It must have been due around now. I can’t even remember the exact date, there are just too many dates to remember (due dates, loss dates, finding out I was pregnant dates).

I opened the box with my keys, just to makes sure.. Yep, it looked like a little diaper bag. I was shaking. I didn’t want to bring this home. All my hopes of the day, smashed, and replaced with an overwhelming reminder of what was lost.

I looked around for a garbage. I can’t bring this home. I don’t want to bring this home. All I ever seem to bring home is empty promises, empty dreams. I am about to hand it to the lady to throw in the garbage. But I think, hey, I can’t use this, but maybe somebody can. And I knew I was making a rash decision.

So I packed it home and had a little cry those last few blocks before my house.

Reminders of my loss are everywhere. We live in such a family culture and I don’t fit into that. I feel that people are judging me for pursing travel and career right now, not realizing that really, it’s just my second choice. It’s just something I am doing in the meantime.

The bag is full of formula. I am going to take it to the foodbank.

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