Miscarriage and Motherhood

I remember a book I used to read when I was a kid. I think it was a little bird that fell out of its nest, and walked around searching for its mother. "Are you my mother?" it would ask. After twenty years or so, I think I relate more to this book now than I did before. Only my question is slightly different.  - "Am I a mother?"

The hardest part of this journey has been, aside from the general feelings associated with loss, understanding whether or not I am still a mother. Many of you probably instantly jump to tell me yes, of course I am. The answer is much harder for me to process, however. I do not have stick figure drawings on my fridge. Toys aren't haphazardly strewn across my living room, embarrassing me when company comes over. I don't ever have to find a babysitter in order to go out and have date night. The most jolting of all for me right now is that the room we intended to be a nursery is still empty, except for a futon and pile of laundry I never seem to get folded. There's no crib, no little clothes, no nightlight, no small toys. Nothing. All I have is a box filled with the very few memories of my two babies. It sits on a shelf in an empty room. Some days I visit it when my heart is particularly broken and my arms simply aching for someone to hold. But to a stranger, my house and my life show no clues that I am a mother. 

What if someone asks me if I have any children? What should I say? I know the answer they're looking for. The question isn't,  "how many times have you been pregnant?" Most of the time I answer none. That feels like a lie, though. I have two children, I just lost them both. But people don't like to feel uncomfortable. Loss, grief, tragedy. It's uncomfortable. 

That little book that is meant for children causes a great emotion to sweep over me. Because for me, the nest is my womb and is now empty because I lost my little baby. And now I am faced with trying to reconcile whether or not I am a mother even with an empty womb and empty arms. How do I convince myself I am a mother with nothing to show for it? I never stayed up all night with a screaming baby. I never kissed skinned knees. I never bought birthday cakes. I never cried on the first day of kindergarten. I never even knew if my baby was a boy or a girl. Am I a mother? 

This battle is particularly difficult for me. All i have to show are memories. Maybe that's why I am fiercely protective of these memories. 

Am I a mother?