The Baby Shower That Wasn't

I never had a baby shower. My daughter arrived at 32 weeks, which meant she showed up before the trendy cake, before the meticulously planned floral arrangements, before anyone could argue about whether I'd registered for the right bottle washer.

Here's the thing nobody tells you: you can grieve something you never even imagined wanting in the first place. I spent my first trimester so sick that I couldn't stomach toast, let alone appreciate the miracle of life growing inside me. I didn't have that glowing pregnant-lady phase where I took weekly bump photos or talked to my belly or whatever it is normal pregnant people do. I was just trying to survive work and life and the never-ending urge to throw up. In my mind, the shower was a means to an end- it was a way to get gifts and keep my family happy.

And then she came early, and suddenly I was grieving all of it- the shower, the third trimester I never got, the version of pregnancy where I actually felt present. The worst part? The guilt of grieving at all. Because there she was, my tiny daughter in her isolette, fighting to breathe and gain weight, and I was sitting there sad about missing out on cake.

I wanted someone to tell me it was okay to want multiple things- to be grateful she was alive, in shock over what was happening and also heartbroken that nothing went the way it was supposed to.