Watching as My Dreams Slip Away . . .

For years I have watched, helpless, as the winds of time tear my dreams to shreds that fall about me and blow away. I should be used to this by now, but I'm not. It still hurts.

First to go was my plan to have my first child by the time I was 23, closely followed by my desire for a minimum of five children. The number of children I hoped for diminished slowly from five or more to three or four. When The Mister first broached the subject I told him I wanted at least three children and that home birth was a given. He willingly agreed, and "my plan" became "our plan".

More than two years later, we were (finally) ready to start our family, and everything looked good. Our family doctor said we were both in good health, and we got pregnant right away. I had read lots of birth and pregnancy books, joined MDC, and chosen a midwife. Even our first miscarriage didn't shake my confidence. I told myself it was a fluke and that the next pregnancy would be fine. Then, the second miscarriage came, mirroring the first, and I went into shock and denial. I refused to search for answers for months, clinging to my dream of midwifery-model prenatal care and home birth. We decided to wait at least three cycles before trying again, and I made some dietary changes. I believed that eventually a pregnancy would stick.

Over the ensuing weeks and months, the denial slowly slipped away, to be replaced by a grief so deep I couldn't fathom trying again without answers. What I eventually learned was that several, treatable conditions had contributed to my miscarriages. With the help of modern medicine and a special doctor, I have a good chance of carrying to term. This news brought hope flickering back to life, even as my plan to stay out of the obstetrician's office and the maternity ward disintigrated.

Now, I begin to dare to dream again of bellies and babies. While it can be comforting to allow myself to hope, there is always the risk that events won't unfold according to plan. Though the realities of pregnancy loss have shaken my illusions of control, admitting that I can neither predict nor direct the future is terrifying.

Losing Astin and Ember shattered my sense of self, along with most of my dreams for the future. I still cling to the vision of the woman I thought I would become, even as she slides out of reach. Without her, I am a lonely husk, facing a sea of fear and despair. I cannot bear to be that woman or face that sea for long. Instead, I turn away and incubate dreams so fragile, they crumble to shreds at the slightest touch of reality. Dreams and reality are incompatible right now, yet hope still flickers in my heart, calling me to discover my future.