The envelope arrived innocently through the mail. The pastel color stood out immediately from the smattering of plain white envelopes. How could something with a tiny dancing elephant on it send a jolt through my heart? It was an invitation to a baby shower, but I didn’t need to check my calendar to know that I wouldn’t go.
I tried to attend one once, only to excuse myself after a brief appearance. The crowded living room was covered in balloons and streamers. As I walked through the party, I noticed that every trimester of pregnancy was represented by an attendee. Topics of small talk ranged from breast pumps to contractions to nursing pads. My heart pounded, and I struggled to focus on creating coherent responses to seemingly benign questions while balancing a plate of uneaten cake on my lap. After contradicting myself about a detail I had made up to avoid a painful truth, I quickly excused myself and left. My face flushed with embarrassment as I fumbled my hasty goodbyes. That was when I decided that avoidance was the best option for dealing with the deep sadness and anxiety I felt anywhere near the topic of birth.
We were barely into our second year of marriage when we found out that I was pregnant. We were thrilled. I felt good, the doctor was encouraging, and I felt nervous but excited, like when the plane lifts off the ground on the way to an adventure. We even viewed the surprise twist that I was carrying twins as part of the thrilling ride.
However, it soon became obvious that there were problems with the pregnancy: Test results showed evidence of bile, problems with amniotic fluid, uneven heart rates. I couldn’t quite grasp it all as my brain raced to catch up to the possibility that the babies referred to clinically as “Twin A” and “Twin B” may be suffering from twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome — a condition in which one twin receives the majority of the nutrients from the mother.
The path from our Brooklyn apartment to Lennox Hill Hospital became well-traveled. There was always another test, another scan. The weeks unfolded at an excruciatingly slow pace. However, we believed that if we could just get to that due date circled on the calendar — the finish line — everything would be fine.
After promising amnio results raised our hopes, we were optimistic enough to consider having a baby shower. I went shopping and found a red dress that covered my enormous stomach yet still managed to have a semblance of style. Shortly before the shower was planned, at yet another ultrasound, things took a sudden and drastic turn. “Twin A” (by now named Riley) was failing quickly, and his best chance for survival was for both twins to be delivered at 27 weeks. Sadly, we lost Riley after he spent two weeks in the NICU. But “Twin B” Kenzie was the tiny rock star waiting in the wings. We brought him home two months later without the baby shower or fanfare we had planned. Once home, life sped forward at a dizzying pace.
I got pregnant again two years later, and we decided to leave New York. I left my job to stay home with our toddler, and our new baby arrived with little fanfare just a handful of months after we moved to Seattle.
Knowing we were alone in a new city, my husband’s brand-new boss organized a small party in their department. Gathering with my husband’s brand-new coworkers to celebrate the anticipated arrival of our baby would be the closest I’d come to having a baby shower. To this day, planning that small gathering is still one of the kindest gestures I have ever known. I didn’t know anyone except my husband in that conference room, but I was grateful no one knew my backstory either. I was the only pregnant woman in the room, so we chatted about everything and anything else.
Weeks later, after our son had been born, the car felt full when we brought him home from the hospital. His big brother held his hand on the way home. We slowly made friends in our new city, some of whom had babies, which meant invitations to baby showers and lots of talk about birth stories … and that became a problem.
Initially, it was easy to avoid conversations about birth — Oh, no! A full diaper. Oops! A spilled drink! I would create a reason to excuse myself whenever it would come up. I avoided baby showers. I told myself that my racing heart during conversations about delivery was nothing. The tingling hands and sinking feeling I felt in my heart when people spoke of baby showers would go away eventually. Yet years went by, and the anxiety remained.
Not too long ago, a new acquaintance mentioned she had twins, and I predictably fumbled and looked for a way to escape. Driving home that evening, I realized that I hadn’t dealt with anything that had happened years ago when the twins were born. The pounding heart and clammy hands were as intense as the day I ran away from the baby shower I tried to attend all those years ago. I hadn’t moved on from my issues with birth; I had just kept going. Time hadn’t cured anything and had quite possibly made the wound deeper. Even though I felt ridiculous, I decided to start talking to a therapist about what had happened over a decade ago.
Through therapy, I’ve been able to deal with the trauma. I’ve dealt with the grief of losing my son and the birth experience that I didn’t have. I can now smile if you mention you have twins because I know how lucky you are.
As for baby showers, I still can’t go. Maybe someday I will. What I have realized is that birth is messy and unpredictable. It rarely goes as planned. It’s important to know that there are people who understand this, and that talking is more freeing than avoidance. Getting help is a gift you can give to yourself, even if it arrives late.
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