Every day, I get online and brace myself for what I know will be an onslaught of happy families with healthy babies and glowing pregnancies. I shuffle my way through pictures, announcements, kids wearing ‘Big Sister!’ shirts, balloons being released from boxes, and grandparents posting ultrasounds.
I sit and stare at each one briefly, part of me wondering what to do. The obvious answer would be – you like it. You push ‘like’ because you are their friend, or at least you know them through something, and that’s just what you do. These people have been kind to you. They feel sad for you.
It’s not your baby.
It’s not your pregnancy.
Their announcement changes nothing for you.
They didn’t get pregnant to spite you.
It’s a life.
It’s not your baby. Remember?
And yet. Every single time I scroll away. Hit ‘unfollow.’ Cringe and turn to something else.
I can’t ‘like’ your baby – as petty as I realize that is. And I do realize it. I’ve been in your shoes 3 times. Wondering why friends with a loss couldn’t be happy for me. After all – it wasn’t their baby. It didn’t have anything to do with them. Be happy for me.
Somehow, liking your pictures and announcements is almost as if I cancel out my own sons. It’s as if pushing that button means they didn’t matter as much as they did and do.
Somehow, if I ‘like’ your healthy, alive baby – mine just fades that much further away.
I’m sorry I can’t like your pregnancy, your photos, your smiles and laughter. I’m sorry it still hurts so bad to see your child come home and mine didn’t even make out of the hospital. I wish it wasn’t like this – but it is. I’m sorry I can’t like your baby, but I can’t. Right now, I have to hold on to anything that allows me to still love mine.