I haven't even got around to my Christmas post yet, but before I do you are going to get a huuuuuge bitchy blog, really bitchy. Leave now if you don't want to hear (or see I guess) me rant and rave for the next little while. You have been warned!
I am LIVID, absolutely freaking livid. I would literally kill my mother in law if there was a guarantee that I would never go to jail for it. The woman is a cold hearted bitch. I am over it. I honestly don’t know whether to bang my head against a brick wall or burst into tears. She is just so, so insensitive.
I overheard her having a conversation with Andrew this afternoon. She obviously thought I was still outside but I had gone into the kitchen and I could hear everything they were saying. She was telling Andrew how he should “put his foot down” about the baby having the middle name James not Alexander… Why the eff is it anything to do with her what we name our son? Her husband’s name was James Alexander (although no one called him James, he was always Jim), my dad is Alexander and my brother's name was Sean Alexander… The three most important males in our life have that name. I just don’t see how James is a better name when Alexander honours everyone and his dad didn’t even go by the name James anyway.
So back to their conversation, Andrew goes ahead and tells his mother that we haven’t made a decision about baby #3 yet, that we’re still trying to work out what would be best (a whole other blog coming about this in the future, maybe…) and she says “is Jenna still not over that flippin’ miscarriage? I can’t see what the big deal is, she was barrrrrrely pregnant.”
At this point I walk away. I go to the room MIL is staying in, I pack up all her shit and I sit down and write her a letter. I put it in an envelope, seal it and put it on top of her bag. I wheel her suitcase to the end of the driveway, walk back into my house and tell her to leave. If she doesn’t leave I will drag her out and make sure she is physically unable to ever walk back into my house again. I tell them I heard, that I heard everything. I turn to MIL and tell her to leave, to get the fuck out of my house. NOW.
This is what was in her letter (not word for word obviously, I had to try and remember it)
Dear Brooke
I know it’s “no big deal” but for the record and since we are never going to speak again I would just like to outline what that “flippin’ miscarriage” meant to me, and some of the things I went through.
· Seven long weeks of suffering
· Two days of cramps, contractions and bleeding
· The feeling of seeing your child, barely 2cms in length, laying on a paper towel in the palm of your hand
· Seeing your baby’s tiny heart and looking into their little eyes
· Not knowing what to put your baby in, and then deciding on a 15ml moisturiser container because that’s the only thing you have small enough
· One haemorrhage and a trip to A&E
· Two nights in hospital
· Blood transfusion
· Having to answer numerous questions from Kellie and Elysium about where the baby is, why did the baby die and whether or not they can see her.
· Weeks of blood tests that tell me I’m still “officially” pregnant
· Three more haemorrhages
· One internal ultrasound
· Another haemorrhage
· One D&C
· Weeks of “why us?”
· Endless ignorant comments from you
· One dead baby, a child, a sibling, a grandchild. One precious human being gone forever.
There are things about the miscarriage I don’t expect people to ever understand, I am sick of some people dismissing it as one of those things that happens to a lot of people. I didn’t stub my toe, I lost my child. I have dealt with that. It is over. I want people to understand it’s not that easy. My baby doesn’t have a name, or a birth certificate. She’ll never go to school, learn to drive, graduate or get married. We can’t talk about her and say how much she loved this or that, and how she would always do a certain thing because we never got to experience that. That doesn’t mean my baby didn’t exist.
I just want someone to read this and realise that they cannot underestimate what someone has been through with a miscarriage. It is real. It hurts. It IS a big deal.
I am LIVID, absolutely freaking livid. I would literally kill my mother in law if there was a guarantee that I would never go to jail for it. The woman is a cold hearted bitch. I am over it. I honestly don’t know whether to bang my head against a brick wall or burst into tears. She is just so, so insensitive.
I overheard her having a conversation with Andrew this afternoon. She obviously thought I was still outside but I had gone into the kitchen and I could hear everything they were saying. She was telling Andrew how he should “put his foot down” about the baby having the middle name James not Alexander… Why the eff is it anything to do with her what we name our son? Her husband’s name was James Alexander (although no one called him James, he was always Jim), my dad is Alexander and my brother's name was Sean Alexander… The three most important males in our life have that name. I just don’t see how James is a better name when Alexander honours everyone and his dad didn’t even go by the name James anyway.
So back to their conversation, Andrew goes ahead and tells his mother that we haven’t made a decision about baby #3 yet, that we’re still trying to work out what would be best (a whole other blog coming about this in the future, maybe…) and she says “is Jenna still not over that flippin’ miscarriage? I can’t see what the big deal is, she was barrrrrrely pregnant.”
At this point I walk away. I go to the room MIL is staying in, I pack up all her shit and I sit down and write her a letter. I put it in an envelope, seal it and put it on top of her bag. I wheel her suitcase to the end of the driveway, walk back into my house and tell her to leave. If she doesn’t leave I will drag her out and make sure she is physically unable to ever walk back into my house again. I tell them I heard, that I heard everything. I turn to MIL and tell her to leave, to get the fuck out of my house. NOW.
This is what was in her letter (not word for word obviously, I had to try and remember it)
Dear Brooke
I know it’s “no big deal” but for the record and since we are never going to speak again I would just like to outline what that “flippin’ miscarriage” meant to me, and some of the things I went through.
· Seven long weeks of suffering
· Two days of cramps, contractions and bleeding
· The feeling of seeing your child, barely 2cms in length, laying on a paper towel in the palm of your hand
· Seeing your baby’s tiny heart and looking into their little eyes
· Not knowing what to put your baby in, and then deciding on a 15ml moisturiser container because that’s the only thing you have small enough
· One haemorrhage and a trip to A&E
· Two nights in hospital
· Blood transfusion
· Having to answer numerous questions from Kellie and Elysium about where the baby is, why did the baby die and whether or not they can see her.
· Weeks of blood tests that tell me I’m still “officially” pregnant
· Three more haemorrhages
· One internal ultrasound
· Another haemorrhage
· One D&C
· Weeks of “why us?”
· Endless ignorant comments from you
· One dead baby, a child, a sibling, a grandchild. One precious human being gone forever.
There are things about the miscarriage I don’t expect people to ever understand, I am sick of some people dismissing it as one of those things that happens to a lot of people. I didn’t stub my toe, I lost my child. I have dealt with that. It is over. I want people to understand it’s not that easy. My baby doesn’t have a name, or a birth certificate. She’ll never go to school, learn to drive, graduate or get married. We can’t talk about her and say how much she loved this or that, and how she would always do a certain thing because we never got to experience that. That doesn’t mean my baby didn’t exist.
I just want someone to read this and realise that they cannot underestimate what someone has been through with a miscarriage. It is real. It hurts. It IS a big deal.
To remember is painful. To forget is impossible.
4 comments:
I haven't miscarried, but I know what it's like the second you find out you're pregnant. The excitement, the plans, the dreams. So no matter if you're 4 weeks, or 40 weeks, there is a connection there, you have a child.
I'm sorry your MIL is such a heartless cow. You did so well packing everything up. What did she say? I would have loved to have seen her face.
Jenna I'm sorry your MIL is such a horrible insensitive person. You would think think she is a mother herself she would be a little bit more sensitive to what you are going through.
I learned a while ago that everyone handles situations differently, and everyone grieves differently, and until someone is in their situation, they have NO idea what that person is going through.
I hope she reads that letter and feels bad, but it sounds like she's the type of person who is incapable of feeling bad.
Anyway, I hope you had a good Christmas, regardless.
What a bitch! That's where I would have been in jail for assulting her. I'm sorry you have to deal with her! Hopefully that letter will make her realize how horrible she really is. If not, maybe at least being kicked out of the house will make her realize how UNwelcome she is anymore and she'll just disappear!
I'm so sorry sweetheart!! Let's hope she gets the point from your letter. NICE letter, btw!! Love you!!
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