The Memory of a Two-Year-Old

I stopped by my parents' house today because my grandparents were in town visiting, and my two-year-old niece was there as well. The girl is brilliant (and she needs cousins!). We told her along with the rest of the family that we were having a baby back in January, but we couldn't tell if she really "got" it.

This afternoon, she was sitting on my lap and picked up a baby bib that my mom had been working on, a counted cross-stitch project. She said something about how the bib is for a baby. Then she said, "Susan having a baby. Mama Elaine [my mom]! Susan having a baby!" as though announcing something exciting that she had just remembered. I took a deep breath, hugged her, and replied, "Not any more, sweetie."

This is a sob story, right? Indeed, it was very cute and sad and bittersweet. But it didn't shake me to my core, make me tear up and run out of the room to relive the devastation. You see, I've developed a pretty good skill for detaching myself. In the face of this sad yet remarkable (she is quite intelligent for a two-year-old) moment, I became someone else, like a relative of the sad girl who lost her baby. I understand how sad this must be for her, but I'm not her.

I suppose I don't want to appear overly fragile to the people around me. I don't want people to worry that I'm going to lose it at any moment and that they have to be careful around me. If I can keep it together, then the miscarriage can remain a safe topic of conversation. In my mind, not talking about it is tantamount to pretending it never happened, and that's the last thing I want.