Two Mes

It's my second day at work and I am sitting stuffing envelopes next to a colleague who is about 6 months pregnant.
It's her first pregnancy, and one of the reasons I was hired was to fill in for her when she goes on maternity leave.
It's not hard for me to be around pregnant women.
Maybe because I have already been pregnant myself - three times.
(Though one was cut short.)
(Though I only have one living child.)
Maybe because I know that I want to get pregnant again.
Maybe because I have never had trouble getting pregnant.

Maybe because I know that no pregnant woman is out of the woods for sure,
So how can I assume that they are lucky when I can't predict their story?
And honestly, I know I'm lucky: I got to be Tikva's mother.

I ask her when she'll be going on maternity leave
(Knowing the answer because my boss told me when she hired me)
And she tells me that she's not sure yet
Because she has a low-lying placenta
That may or may not become placenta previa.
If it is, she'll be on bedrest starting in January.
Otherwise, she'll go on maternity leave in March.
She asks me how old my daughter is and I tell her, Almost five.
It goes by really fast, I say, after the first really intense six months.

She only knows that I have one child.
I don't tell her anything else.
I don't say anything about Tikva.
I don't want to add to what is probably enough worry.
I don't want to be the one to make her realize it's never guaranteed.
She smiles sweetly, seems unaware even of any danger she might be in.
I don't really know if she is in any danger,
But surely there is some risk if she might be on bedrest for her last trimester.
Even if I said something,
I don't think she'd realize it anyway,
Without having gone through it.
I don't want to say anything,
So it doesn't matter.

It's strange not mentioning Tikva,
But I understand that mentioning her is more complicated than saying,
I had another child, but she died.
It's strange like she never existed.
For them, she never existed.
My boss and three other people in this large organization are the only ones who know,
And they won't say anything to others or even to each other.

But there is something else:
I don't really want to share my Baby Girl with them.
I like the idea of keeping these two worlds separate,
Just going to work and doing my job and then returning to my own world.
I don't want people looking at me in the hallway with looks of pity,
Of seeming to know when they likely don't know.
I want Tikva to remain mine,
(Held by you who read this)
But not a part of my work life.

I know that each person there probably holds a story of their own,
A story of sadness, loss, grief, sorrow, darkness, complexity.
Still, it's such a strange thing to bring up,
Your baby who died.
Different than a parent who died when you were young,
Or an illness someone you love is suffering from.

I'm going to be at this job for seven months.
Tikva will be a part of me for the rest of my life
And beyond.
So today, I smiled and said nothing.
Maybe another day I'll say something.
Who knows what fears and worries might have been going through her mind as we spoke.
I understand, I would have told her.