The other day, I got an email from an editor wanting me to review a book on my blog (my semi-pseudonymous blog). They sent me a free copy, and Brandon was so proud of me. He knows I could be a book reviewer (generally speaking) in a heartbeat, but I was less excited because I knew exactly what this book was, and why they wanted ME to review it on MY blog. Of course, I had to get the book on Oct. 15th, Pregnancy and Infant loss awareness day (not Pregnancy loss, stillbirth, and infant loss you'll notice).
The book is called, "An exact replica of a figment of my imagination." It's about a woman's stillbirth and the subsequent pregnancy and birth of her 'rainbow baby' (the term us forsaken mums use to refer to a living child after a stillbirth).
So, you'd think I'd gobble it up like every study on preterm labor and stillbirth I've consumed in the last year. It's short, and beautifully bound in baby boy blue, a book the old me could've read it in a matter of hours. She was a voracious reader. But, instead, I read the first page and put it down. It hit too close to home, that day, this Fall, that dark humor. This woman is me. And, godsdamnit, I don't like me. I don't need to read me. I don't want to read me. I need to read about politics. I need to read about the weather. I live this book every day. How can I possibly read it?
So, my friend called me today, so excited, totally ignorant to the memoir that has been sitting on my table torturing me since I received it on Oct. 15th. She had to tell me they were reviewing a book on stillbirth on NPR (god(s) love her, lol). Here it is if you'd all like to hear the review (5min), it's good:
So I don't know why I'm writing this blog. Mostly, because I've always liked the word liminal, and that's what this reviewer ended with, a ponderance on the word liminal. In the 11 months since I lost Myles, and really the months of bed rest before then, I didn't realize that I WAS fucking liminal. So I guess maybe now I've decided to finally pick up the baby blue book, this book about the full term stillbirth of a woman's beloved son, 'puddin', and just read the damn thing. Because as much as I know, I have lived, what's in it, if I can glean an insight from it, even a little one, maybe it's worth it. And I like the word liminal too.