The Baby Losers Club: A Novella in Pieces
by Tara Wine-Queen
Riley and Jules have been best friends for most of their lives. Now in their thirties, they have both struggled to have a family, and Jules suggests they start a club for people who like them have gone through infertility, miscarriage, and child loss. Riley is hesitant, worried how the club might affect her struggles with depression over her inability to conceive and keep a child, but she ultimately agrees, and The Baby Losers Club is born.
Praise for The Baby Losers Club
"The Baby Losers Club is a moving exploration of pain and loss; what people fail to acquire or lose; and what they actually give up because of what they couldn’t have, and it leaves a long-lasting resonance in the reader’s mind. This impressive collection is a thoughtful, compassionate exploration of family dynamics and relationships, and Tara brings life to the story collection with a voice that immediately demands attention.”
-The Prairies Book Review
Excerpt from The Baby Losers Club
The first time it had happened, she had been sleeping, so she wasn’t aware when her body evacuated the tiny clump of cells she had been expecting to mature into a baby; she had no opportunity to protest or make a case on its behalf.
She woke up, and it was already over, the remnants of her hope deposited in her underwear, a tiny lost war, a bloodied cotton battlefield.
She had known that this might happen. She had read that first pregnancies were the most likely to miscarry, knew that at ten weeks, she was still within the perimeters of likely miscarriage. This hadn’t lessened her devastation at the time; she burned with disappointment and shame when she told her husband who had already been at work when she awoke that day.
The second time was worse. The second time, it wasn’t a formless battlefield which made its way into her underwear. The second time there was shape; there was a visual she wouldn’t shake for the whole of her life. Her hand cupped the raw form, closer this time to the baby she had hoped it would grow into.
There was the specific fear of the second time. The first miscarriage, that was hard, but it was bearable. It happened sometimes, especially with a first pregnancy. But the second time, she saw that her body was building a pattern.
The third time was proof. God, the universe, whatever was in charge didn’t want her to have a baby.
“We will have a baby,” her husband had said that time, kneeling in front of her damp body, fresh from the shower in which she had tried to wash the blood from her thighs and hands. “It’ll happen when it’s supposed to. You know that, right?”
And she had wanted to say yes. She had wanted to grab him and pull him close to her and feel the blood that pumped through him warm her and fortify her with its certainty.
Praise for The Baby Losers Club
"The Baby Losers Club is a moving exploration of pain and loss; what people fail to acquire or lose; and what they actually give up because of what they couldn’t have, and it leaves a long-lasting resonance in the reader’s mind. This impressive collection is a thoughtful, compassionate exploration of family dynamics and relationships, and Tara brings life to the story collection with a voice that immediately demands attention.”
-The Prairies Book Review
Excerpt from The Baby Losers Club
The first time it had happened, she had been sleeping, so she wasn’t aware when her body evacuated the tiny clump of cells she had been expecting to mature into a baby; she had no opportunity to protest or make a case on its behalf.
She woke up, and it was already over, the remnants of her hope deposited in her underwear, a tiny lost war, a bloodied cotton battlefield.
She had known that this might happen. She had read that first pregnancies were the most likely to miscarry, knew that at ten weeks, she was still within the perimeters of likely miscarriage. This hadn’t lessened her devastation at the time; she burned with disappointment and shame when she told her husband who had already been at work when she awoke that day.
The second time was worse. The second time, it wasn’t a formless battlefield which made its way into her underwear. The second time there was shape; there was a visual she wouldn’t shake for the whole of her life. Her hand cupped the raw form, closer this time to the baby she had hoped it would grow into.
There was the specific fear of the second time. The first miscarriage, that was hard, but it was bearable. It happened sometimes, especially with a first pregnancy. But the second time, she saw that her body was building a pattern.
The third time was proof. God, the universe, whatever was in charge didn’t want her to have a baby.
“We will have a baby,” her husband had said that time, kneeling in front of her damp body, fresh from the shower in which she had tried to wash the blood from her thighs and hands. “It’ll happen when it’s supposed to. You know that, right?”
And she had wanted to say yes. She had wanted to grab him and pull him close to her and feel the blood that pumped through him warm her and fortify her with its certainty.
