Gains and Losses

None of my jeans fit anymore, and that’s a good thing. Nine months of breastfeeding the kiddo, watching my food choices, and finally getting back to the gym over the past few months has accomplished a SEVENTY POUND drop in my weight since January. Yup. Seventy pounds. I gained a *bit* too much over the past few years of pregnancy and child loss and pregnancy again. Gets me thinking about gains and losses and all that’s changed.

In 2008 I gained joy of the greatest kind I’d ever known with our first pregnancy. I gained almost 50 lbs in five months thanks to Barbara Luke’s “When You’re Expecting Twins, Triplets or Quads” book, which led me to believe I needed to eat vast quantities of food in order for our triplets to have the best chance in life. (Turns out that what I needed was a stronger cervix.) I gained three sons, and then I gained an understanding of what true, life-rending pain feels like. I gained some unexpected friends. I gained insight into my own ability to recover and live through things. I gained empathy and understanding for people who’ve suffered miscarriages and child loss. 

I lost my first children. I lost my rose-colored glasses—that innocent belief that things will be okay if you try hard enough. I lost my faith and still haven’t really found it.  I lost about 40 lbs. I lost motivation. I lost perspective and nearly lost my husband.

In 2009 I gained hope. I gained weight (again!) with pregnancy. I gained the nerves and anxiety and skepticism and hesitation (along with the excitement) of a pregnancy following a loss. I gained some healthy coping mechanisms (frequent walks and time spent outside) and some less healthy ones (online shopping and overeating). 

I lost the ability to simply enjoy pregnancy. I lost focus. I lost touch with friends. I turned inside myself somewhat, I think to protect myself from the possibility of losing another child.

In 2010 I gained everything. I gained the ability to rock my baby to sleep, to nurse him and to hold him and to comfort him when he cries. I gained a new respect for my husband as a father. I gained that elusive secret key to the world of parenthood and all of the joys of late night feedings and early morning wake-up calls. I gained healing. I gained some perspective. I gained motherhood in a tangible way, in a way that involves my daily interaction and allows my love to be wrapped around a real, living, breathing little being. I gained Tatum. I gained happiness. I gained motivation. I gained optimism. I gained even more hope. 

I lost most of the heavy sadness that had swallowed me. I lost feelings of disconnection from the world at large. I lost large chunks of the protective armor I’d been building around myself. I lost some cynicism. I lost seventy pounds. I gained back myself.

…

Some of the losses of the past few years are permanent. Those rose-colored glasses are gone for good, though hopefully at some point I’ll find faith again. I’ll never be able to change the fact that our first children died, or that my body failed them. But the gains of the past few years are so vast—the love I have for our son, and the joy I experience every moment with him, is immense. I’ve gained a greater love for our family, and for life in general.  I feel motivated to be better, to do better, to take care of myself and of the people around me. Tatum has given me that.