What might have been.

Today marks the second anniversary of my missed due date.

I spent it taking care of a busy little toddler, doing laundry, fighting off a headache and, from time to time, thinking about what might have been.

The emotions are complicated. I'm sad that we didn't have a second birthday party today. I miss the little one I never met.

But I found out I was pregnant with the Little Guy exactly 17 days after my due date. If the first pregnancy had worked out, what would that have meant for the Little Guy? I don't know how it works with pregnancy loss and the other side; whether each pregnancy is a separate soul or if it's multiple tries for the same soul to come to earth. I just don't know. I don't like the thought of the Little Guy being in any way involved with the miscarriage. But the sheer number of what-might-have-beens in this scenario make me a little dizzy.

In some ways it's easier to think about what might have been with my first miscarriage. That child would be three and a half now, with no overlap between either of my other pregnancies. It's easier to view as a separate instance without worrying about what may or may not have happened if I hadn't lost the pregnancy.

But with #2 and the Little Guy, there's no possibility that we could have had both at the times we did. And that makes me think about what is and what might have been, and the only conclusion I can come to is that I am so grateful that I have the Little Guy, no matter how it came to happen.

So I'll have a moment of silence and maybe a tear or two for my missing little ones, and then give two extra kisses to my son, and content myself with not knowing the whys and wherefores for the time being. Time enough to worry later about what might have been; for now I'll just give thanks for what is.

Puzzled.

So I have a mystery on my hands.

Yesterday, at 8:04 p.m., I received in my email inbox the following:

We hope you enjoy your free subscription to the Utah Baby Guide.

That was it.

No preamble, no explanation of why I have received a free subscription to the Utah Baby Guide. No indication of how they got my contact information. Not even really an official announcement of my having received a free subscription. An implied announcement, yes, but not an explicit one. No clue as to where this is coming from. Just a free subscription, just like that, and I was left scratching my head trying to figure out why this email was sent to me.

And I must confess that I'm stymied.

I haven't signed up for any mailing lists or free drawings or anything. The email address it was sent to was my personal address, rather than the junk one I give out when I sign up for free things anyway. I haven't been frequenting any baby sites or anything that would have given me this hookup. Back when the second miscarriage happened in July, I unsubscribed from the baby sites so I wouldn't keep getting the weekly emails because it was just too painful at the time. Come to think of it, even those emails went to a different account than this one. (Yeah, yeah, I have more email accounts than a normal person needs or ought to have. Whatcha gonna do?) And nobody has mentioned to me, "Oh, hey, I signed you up for a free subscription to the Utah Baby Guide." (That a friend signed me up is the most likely scenario since after the graphic the email does say that if I have a friend I'd like to give a subscription to I just need to click this link, yadda yadda, but still, if someone did sign me up they didn't mention anything about it.)

I should probably have made it clear from the get-go that I'm not upset about this, just mightily puzzled.

Where did the mystery subscription come from? Are there more on the way? Was this a completely random spam-like thing, and if so, why did my spam filter let this one through but block all the Viagara and discount Rolex ones?

Ah, life's eternal questions have risen once again.

And in the meantime, I guess I'll just wonder about the mystery and read the story about the triplets with the cute photo where they're all wearing ties and crying their eyes out.



And if any of you have any light to shed on this puzzle, please let me know. I love mystery stories, but my favorite part is always at the end when Poirot or Miss Marple or Nick and Nora call everyone in for a dinner party and reveal the solution, beginning with the speech about "I suppose you're wondering why I've gathered you all together today." Love that part! So yeah . . . let me know.

Reasons Why

My reasons for writing this blog are, first, that I think it a right thing for every person in such circumstances (like myself) to set an example; secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly -- which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness.

Er, wait. Sorry. Wrong reasons speech there.

First off, I'm not writing this blog just because I want everyone to sympathize with me. Okay, well, maybe there is a little bit of that going on, but not much. (Although I do sincerely thank all of you who have expressed your sympathies. It means a lot to both Shallow Man and myself.) I'm writing this for catharsis, both personal and general.

One of the things I've noticed the most as we've been going through the process of infertility and also miscarriage is that nobody talks about it. Ever. Or at least that's what it feels like. Part of this is obviously the fact that people don't like talking about their health problems (at least before age 50 or so) and that in LDS culture we also don't talk much about sex in general, so anything related to it also isn't talked about as much.

But it's also because it feels, to me at least, embarrassing and almost shameful in a way. You wouldn't want to admit that you couldn't read or write or tie your shoes. You wouldn't want everyone at your workplace to know that you couldn't perform the basic functions of your job. Not being able to have children can feel the same way, like you're broken or inferior. I don't for a minute actually believe that infertility means anything of the sort, but when you're in the thick of it it's a lot harder not to listen to those kinds of ideas.

I think there's also an element of the Job syndrome. You worry that someone will think it's your own fault; that you're being punished or are unworthy in some way, because of course God will bless his righteous and obedient children with children of their own. This, of course, is nonsense, because God's purpose is not to give us everything we WANT, but to give us what we NEED.

Now, I'm not saying that I see exactly what the burning need for two miscarriages and struggles with infertility was in my life. And I probably don't specifically need these events. But I do need to grow, and Heavenly Father in His wisdom knows how to give me the experiences and opportunities I need to achieve that growth.

Of course I still struggle with accepting that. I think everyone who goes through trials does. And I have to admit that unfortunately I do go through days where I question and wonder why and am not at all content and lack faith and really wrestle with accepting and learning from my experiences. I would rather not have to grow in this particular way, thank you very much.

But then I have what I guess you might call more lucid periods, where I can step back and say, "Okay, this stinks, but what can I do about it? What can I learn from this?" And it's harder to know what to do if you don't know what anyone else is doing, or if it feels like you're the only one who's going through things like this.

So I guess that's the long way of saying that one of the main reasons I'm doing this is to increase awareness and start a dialogue. If we can talk about these things like they're as normal as they are (I've been surprised to find out just how many people I know are dealing with one or both of these issues) then none of us will feel as isolated, as broken, or as "unworthy" as I sometimes have felt. Then maybe we can get a better, more eternal perspective.

"And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?
"Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him."
(John 9:2-3)