I took such time and care in selecting items to furnish the baby's nursery. We had opted to wait until birth to hear the surprise of "It's a girl!" or "It's a boy!" As such, the nursery was painted in neutral, pale shades of green and yellow, knowing I could later incorporate pink, purple or blue. I hemmed and hawed over a bassinet, a safe space for the baby to sleep at night near us. I was perusing through all things baby on the Pottery Barn website one day when I stumbled upon the most perfect bassinet. It was constructed of white wicker and the pale green bedding matched the nursery. I knew it was a bit of an extravagance. Hundreds of dollars on a piece of furniture a baby could use for only a few short months. Rich balked at first, wanted to discuss other alternatives, but I had my heart set on that beautiful bassinet. I still remember loading it into the car at the Natick Mall, my shirt stretched tight against my swollen midsection.
A few months later, that bassinet would sit so very silent and empty
As I was cleaning out and organizing the upstairs linen closet this weekend, I found the once crisp white and soft green skirt belonging to the bassinet, which currently resides in the finished portion of our basement. As newborns, the girls napped in the bassinet. But it wasn't the same. It felt like a frivolous item borrowed from another family, belonging to another baby.
I attach meaning and memories to objects. I don't know if I should apologize for this. It sometimes makes me look like a hoarder. All these years later and I cannot part with that bassinet. One of the girls asked me why we still have it. It represents innocence and dreams and the person I used to be.
Two stillbirth related posts in a row is unintentional. Late last night, I found myself reading studies attempting to explain unexplained stillbirths. Over the past eleven years, I've come to the conclusion that many unexplained stillbirths can be explained. These pregnancies simply went longer than they should have, but no one wants to admit to this. Think of the legal ramifications.
No one has ever been able to explain why my amniotic fluid was basically nonexistent when I arrived at the hospital. The doctor, who saw me when I was admitted, insisted, in a condescending manner, that it must have broken and I didn't realize it. It was later confirmed that it had not broken, that the fluid had been too low to protect an umbilical cord from crushing. This is despite the fact that I'd had an ultrasound a few weeks prior to determine the baby's approximate weight.
No one has ever been able to explain why my placenta wasn't in the condition one would expect from a typical pregnancy. I was told that it had measured small but the size of the placenta from the autopsy report wouldn't have been able to produce a seven pound, ten ounce baby. A discrepancy no one wants to touch.
Some will argue that there must have been an underlying issue. It used to seriously piss me off when people asked/assumed that there was something "wrong" with Abigail. I delivered at one of the top rated hospitals in the country. They ran every test possible on me and her after her death and no scientific explanation is available. Some of the more recent studies I've read are starting to point to due dates and how long is too long. It's a step in the right direction.
As always, I share this not to scare but to inform.
Happier posts coming soon.