Yeah...
It's been a LONG time since I've had anything to say here, much less anything really substantial. I am not sure if that's good or bad. Sometimes I think it is good, because maybe that means my focus is not so much on my loss, not so much on wanting people to feel sorry for me sometimes (just being honest), not so much on focusing on others who share the experience of losing. But mostly it's bad because I am pretending. Pretending that I'm ok, pretending nothing's wrong, pretending that the days up to the 9th weren't some of the most upsetting days of my life.
That's why I'm back.
I can't just act like it's all good, like stuff's been fine and cool and I just don't care anymore and I'm not hurting still- because that's not the case at all. I am still mad. Mad at the why me's of this terrible experience. There is still so much that is difficult to wrap my mind around. Why did it take so long to get pregnant? Why did it happen then? How could something I honestly didn't think I wanted to happen have been so wonderful, so exciting, and honestly have given me some of the happiest and most content feelings that I remember having? Ever. Why didn't this baby stay? Was he or she unhealthy or not? Was it something I did? (Rationale can tell me the answer to this question is no, but will I ever fully believe that? Doubtful). Was my baby a he or a she? What would have he or she looked like? Why do I have (almost) nothing tangible to remember this all by? All I have are 4 ultrasound pictures (2 of which are after my precious baby was an angel), a few books and magazines, and the after-the-fact tributes which do help but still just aren't enough.
But then there's the other side.
It wasn't all bad, you know.
I had a pregnancy that, honestly, I got to be happy and excited about. I never thought I would have that experience. Not that I was not happy or excited about Trent and Taryn or that they weren't wanted. But it's different telling your mom when you're 17 (and newly single) that she's going to be a grandma vs. telling her when you're married and she's been harrassing you for years to have another baby. It's way cool to tell the dad and not have him say some crap like, "If you are, I'd leave the country" (I know, right, WTF?) I had never had an early ultrasound before, and having the ultrasound tech tell you that your baby is only HALF AN INCH big, and yet seeing a beating heart is one of the most AMAZING experiences ever. And I got to have that, on my birthday, with my kiddos there. That was one of the best days ever.
I guess there's good and bad with my due date coming and going, too.
First of all, that day wasn't really so bad.
I think that sounds terrible. I don't mean for it to.
But here's why:
The anticipation of that day was what was really, really hard. Because I didn't know what to do, or think, or how to act, or what would be "right." Was I supposed to be sad all day? Was I supposed to be "over it?" Would I want to hide away, cry, smile, be around others? I drank the night before. I didn't plan it that way, but Sparkles texted me after work and I figured, hey, why not. I could use a drink. After I got home, I knew Ryan was annoyed initially, but then it all clicked and he said he didn't know what to say or do, either. He didn't know what was "expected" of him on my due date. I think it's easy to forget that this is not just my loss. Ryan lost a child, too. It's different for him than for me but that doesn't mean it doesn't matter or that it's easy for him. But then that day came. Don't get me wrong, "not so bad" still means pretty shitty. It was a sad day, I did feel bad. But in some ways, it was put to rest a little. I went to target and I ended up looking at baby stuff. It didn't hurt me. Those little things are just things. Meant for sweet babies who deserve to be here with parents who deserve to have them. I won't feel the joy (right now) of getting all those little things and having a baby who can use them, but it's ok. My little baby had to go before I wanted him or her to, but it's going to be ok. I wrote in my journal, which I had also neglected for a VERY long time. I was definitely agitated that day, but I made it through.
And that chapter is over. Not that I won't think about it, or it doesn't matter. But the torture of counting down and thinking about where I "should" be with the pregnancy is over.
My baby is resting. And we're ok.
