Today, I took Beatrice to the playground.
I hate the playground.
All the fucking small talk. All the fucking questions.
"Finally some sun. Nice day, isn't it?"
"How old is your daughter?"
"Where did all these people come from? It was empty when I got here."
"Is she your only child?"
"Is she small for her age?"
"What is her name? Oh, that is...unusual."
"Is she climbing well?"
"Where is she going to daycare?"
"Are you having any more?"
"Who is supposed to clean up this park?"
"She must look like her father."
"How does she sleep?"
"Are you the babysitter?"
I hate the playground.
The mommies and their babies in Baby Bjorns. So many siblings. Can't stand the siblings of the 21 months apart variety. The smoking grandmothers lurking on the other side of the park. The creepy teenage boys on the highest slide. The competitive stay at home mommies with their blackberries. The geese. (I hate geese, but perhaps that is another rant.)
I am the Mommy that everyone talks about across the playground. Wasn't she pregnant? Did she have her baby? Is that her daughter? She looks nothing like her. Is she Puerto Rican? I avoid the playground. I let it become my husband's realm since December, and well, to be fair, there haven't been too many great days...but spring is here, and Sam was totally spent today. So, I took the girl for a walk. It's where we end up.
Today I told a perfect stranger that I had two daughters. She asked me how many children I had. And I said two. Two daughters. But one died. She said, "I'm sorry. How old was she?" And I didn't know what to say, so I said, "She was stillborn at 38 weeks. So she was zero."
She looked uncomfortable. So I said, "We are so sad."
Uh, yeah. Sad.
I think we need a new word for what we feel. Sad just doesn't seem to cut it.
ReplyDeleteIt's in the air today, I think. We went out to lunch with a couple we know who have a one-year old. Somehow, the people at the next table mistook me for the baby's mother and said, "How old is your son?" I was about to say, "Well, he's not any age any more because he died in November.", and then I thought better of it and explained the situation. I'm impressed that you made it to the park at all. And Bea is a beautiful name.
ReplyDeleteI'm amazed you survived the playground, and am so proud of you for telling that woman about Lucia. I should try that, 'I have a son and he's zero'. But it sounds like I need to come to that playground and kick some ass, those mommies sound mean!
ReplyDeleteWho knew zero could actually mean so much, eh?
ReplyDeletei can only imagine how hard it must be to be part of that playground scene...i'm so far away from mommy land. and i too am proud of you for sharing lucy with a total stranger.
ReplyDeletesomeone that i spoke with this weekend also asked how old my baby was when he died...zero...didn't think of that one...but ya it's kind of true...how bizarre is it that life only starts after birth.
oops
ReplyDeletethat last post was from me- aliza
Well done – it’s really hard facing that. I had the same conversation with someone in a playground (the ‘I have children but one is dead’ conversation). I saw her again recently - I could see her telling her friends and I imagined she was saying 'she's the weird one with the dead baby.' They all kept looking at me. I wish I had had something obscene written on my tee-shirt...
ReplyDeleteJeebus, what a fucking nightmare. Talk about a place where you need a 'My Baby Died" t-shirt.
ReplyDeleteAgain I go back to my blog aboug us all having signs! A big fat neon sign that flashes!! Or the T-Shirt "I WAS pregnant and all I got for it was this stupid T-Shirt!"...I hate questions too. Maybe I will make that shirt after all. Anyone else want one??
ReplyDeleteWe're so sad... (that's the understatement of the DECADE!!)