To lose the baby you are carrying is like losing one of your fingers. You can manage to make it through a lot of the day without thinking too much about it...until you need to thread a needle or tie your shoe or type. And then you're reminded, and it all comes flooding back.
It is so much worse, so much more traumatic than I thought. Even the word -- miscarriage, as in "I couldn't carry you." I don't know why I couldn't do it. I wanted to. I tried. The feelings of helplessness and failure are almost too much to bear.
Tomorrow is my first day back to work, and it feels like facing a firing squad. I dread it. Everyone is going to have their "I'm so sorry" face on, and I just don't feel like I can take it. I know people don't know what to say, but I don't either. I always end up feeling like I have to comfrot them. They say "I'm so sorry" and I end up saying something like "Thank you, me too. It's been really rough, but I'll make it through..." I feel like soon they will all expect me to start feeling better. When they ask how I'm doing, I'll have to reply "A little better," because that's what they want to hear.
Will I make it through? Does it get better?
At times, the grief is a wading pool; at times, a riptide. At times, I am buoyed by hope; at times, my lungs fill with the pain of it all and I am flat on my back on the bottom, held down by the tons of water above me, feeling as though I will never reach the surface.
Hemingway said, "The world breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong in the broken places." My heart is a broken place. I hope Hemingway is right...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Three Little Steps
So he did it -- FIRST STEPS! I was sitting near him on the floor while he stood up holding on to the coffee table. He reached for me, and -- like I always do -- I reached back without moving towards him to try and encourage him to walk to me. Usually, he just plops his little butt down and crawls over. This time, with barely any hesitation at all, he let go...and took three little steps into my arms.
After the initial excitement wore off, I was surprised at how I felt about it. I was sad.
On one hand, I know that this is the natural progression of things. Babies grow up, they get more independent, they become their own people. And I want that for him...I want him to be brave and adventurous and to want to strike out and make his own way.
On the other hand, I'm not ready. I look at him with his new velcro shoes and his sippy cup and his grown-up food and his footless pajamas, and I realize that I am watching him grow up -- minute by minute, day by day -- right before my very eyes. There is nothing I can do about it, and it makes my heart ache. How long will it be before he pushes me away when I try to kiss him? Before he doesn't want me to hold him anymore? Before he keeps secrets from me? Before he asks me to drop him off a block away? Before he leaves my home to make his own? It is a runaway train that can't be stopped.
With three little steps, he is spreading his wings. I am proud and sad and scared and amazed. Mostly, I am hopeful...hopeful that as he grows, he doesn't grow away from me. Hopeful that the steps he takes -- the same steps that show him the world and blaze new trails -- will bring him back into my arms often.
Three little steps -- maybe not so little after all!
After the initial excitement wore off, I was surprised at how I felt about it. I was sad.
On one hand, I know that this is the natural progression of things. Babies grow up, they get more independent, they become their own people. And I want that for him...I want him to be brave and adventurous and to want to strike out and make his own way.
On the other hand, I'm not ready. I look at him with his new velcro shoes and his sippy cup and his grown-up food and his footless pajamas, and I realize that I am watching him grow up -- minute by minute, day by day -- right before my very eyes. There is nothing I can do about it, and it makes my heart ache. How long will it be before he pushes me away when I try to kiss him? Before he doesn't want me to hold him anymore? Before he keeps secrets from me? Before he asks me to drop him off a block away? Before he leaves my home to make his own? It is a runaway train that can't be stopped.
With three little steps, he is spreading his wings. I am proud and sad and scared and amazed. Mostly, I am hopeful...hopeful that as he grows, he doesn't grow away from me. Hopeful that the steps he takes -- the same steps that show him the world and blaze new trails -- will bring him back into my arms often.
Three little steps -- maybe not so little after all!
Monday, July 20, 2009
So Fresh and So Clean, Clean
This is a new thing -- it's the face he makes when I tell him to "Say Cheese!" Looks like I have a little poser on my hands...literally!! ;)
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