July 28, 2013
It's been nagging at me, my last post. I think what I meant to say is... I wish there were some kind of sign I could hang so people understand that it's me, not them. I have screwed up playdates and birthday party invitations because I'm forgetful and distracted. I am quite sure there are several moms in my neighborhood who think I'm a complete idiot. But they don't know. And how do you tell them? What kind of conversation is that?
I have an overwhelming need to be at home. I don't feel like cooking. I'm tired. I'm tending to my family and new puppy and that takes it all out of me. And pretending anything else feels fake.
And at the same time, I don't want to burden everyone with our loss. I don't want to be defined as 'the crazy lady with the cord-strangled-stillborn.' I know two years have passed. I feel it. I see two year olds and my heart hurts. I see my girls growing older and know that once my littlest goes to kindergarten, that's it. No more toddlers.
It's dark in here. I am working with a counselor and taking medication to help with the lows. I practice yoga. I am eating clean and intentionally. We keep busy. I recently finished the playroom and the girls are thrilled with their new, productive space. I pray, but I can't go to church yet. I weep so uncontrollably that it is very uncomfortable for me and those around me. The doctor's office terrifies me. The thought of being in a gown and being on a table paralyzes me with grief and trauma. My mind and body instantly flash back. I can't look at ultrasound photos or even think about them without welling up. I can't even go to the dentist. It's too sterile and hospital-like.
Maybe writing about it is good.
Today is Sunday. It will be beautiful and cool, a wonderful late summer treat. We might take the girls to the zoo. One day at a time, I tell you.