There are days – pushing my stroller up a steep hill, scooping dog poop while answering the phone, trying to meet writing deadlines while Lucien plays at my feet, managing outings and baths and meals and schedules, not to mention making time for my yoga practice-when I could almost forget. How hard it was getting here. It was hard for me to become a mother, excruciatingly so. (Now, in comparison, is the easy part.) Neil and I married when I was 30, and though it seemed prudent to wait to try and have a baby-for our careers to become more stable, to have more of an income, to settle down in one city -I wanted to get started right away. Maybe deep down I knew. After six months of trying, I became pregnant. We lived in Los Angeles at the time and immediately I changed everything. My diet: Goodbye coffee, hello egg salad sandwiches. My asana practice: so long Mysore series, hello Iyengar. Even the way I thought of myself changed in the instant I saw that plus on the pregnancy stick. In a flash I went from struggling would-be writer to contented mom-to-be. That pregnancy was seven years ago. At eight-and-a-half weeks (that half week was as important to me then as Lucien’s “half” a year after his two years is to me now) I went to the doctor for my first ultrasound. In that fancy office in Beverly Hills I sat feeling out of place but confident in my impending motherhood as I flipped the pages of the magazines laid out in the waiting room. And then the exam. There was no heartbeat. What followed was an everyday nightmare that I know many of you reading this have been through-the blood work and waiting, the D & C, the endless and unexpected free fall of grief. It took a long time for me to heal. One thing that helped was working on my first book, an anthology I edited, About What Was Lost: 20 Writers on Miscarriage, Healing, and Hope . I wrote my story and collected others. Hearing women’s stories, immersing myself in them, steeled me as I spent the next several years determined to become a mother, but not sure how or when or some days, if, I would. Yoga helped too. In class I felt cared for and comforted, and on good days I felt that everything would be all right. (On the bad days I stared in envy at the gorgeous pregnant women in class, on the really bad days I cried at home on my mat, and on the worst days I stayed in bed.) Now, all these years later, I have my beautiful boy. As he sings to me and as we snuggle and make believe, and even when I get so exhausted from keeping up with him that I need to collapse in front of hours of reality television in a pop culture coma, I remember, and I feel for all the women (and men) out there struggling-whether with IVF cycles or adoption waiting lists or simply the monthly still-negative pregnancy tests. I’m sending love to all of you and prayers that soon you’ll be with the children you are meant to parent. And believe me, I know how lucky I am. Do you have a story to share? Jessica Berger Gross is the author of enLIGHTened: How I Lost 40 Pounds with a Yoga Mat, Fresh Pineapples, and a Beagle Pointer (Skyhorse), she lives in Vancouver, British Columbia with her husband and two-year-old son.
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Remembering
