If you've been a reader of this blog at some point in the last two years you are well aware of the fact that miscarriage has been a common theme. And that's because I had miscarriages in July of 2014 and November of 2014.
And now we can add February 17, 2017 to that list.
February 17th has been a strangely significant date in my lifetime. In that last few years, it was the due date of our very first, lost, baby. Then it became the conception date for Junior, our wonderful baby boy here with us earthside. And now it has become the date of our third miscarriage. The day our fourth baby left us forever.
I have taken a lot of time to process with friends and family already, and I feel like I have come out the other side intact. It's different than the first time because I didn't have to go through the same physical difficulties. It's different than the second time because I'm not wondering if we'll ever have a child someday. This time I have a sweet (albeit teething) boy to snuggle, and plenty of experience to fall back on.
Ok, so this might sound weird to some of you, sad to others, and understandable to a few. I find myself wondering why people keep asking if I'm doing all right. I felt like I was able to process and go through the steps of handling this loss quickly this time, and it's because this is the third time I've had to go through it.
Am I the only one who feels this way when going through this kind of loss/trial so often?
Every now and then something pops up in me to remind me that I am not 100% OK. That my natural optimism, hopefulness, and positivity has been damaged.
-When a couple I know says they're ready to have another child and are already talking about their next pregnancy with the expectation that it will result in a live birth. And my reaction? I want to tell them to be cautious. Don't use that terrible word, "when." Use the safe word: "if."
-When I avoid all the newborn clothing sections in stores because it just doesn't make sense to coo over a precious set of footie pajamas.
-When precious people in my life have children so close together in age, and when people around me talk about how, yes, it was really hard, but now they're so grateful their kids are only a year apart, and I find myself already regretting the fact that Junior won't be that close in age to a future sibling. That I'll never be a "two under two" mom like I always wanted.
-When, now, over a month after the event, my body is attempting to start a new menstrual cycle and my hormones are wildly out of control. We're talking white-hot-rage out of control. Why, oh why, does my body create this deadly chemical cocktail of fury and impatience in me? Me, who never before struggled with an anger problem. Me, who always prided myself on my ability to maintain a level head in the face of absurdity or futility. It's been over a year since I have felt anger on this level, and the last occasion was the final swan song (is that redundant?) of my PPD.
-When the weight just WON'T. STOP. PILING. ON. Seriously. Won't stop. 10 pounds in one month, y'all. TEN. And I know that even when I say I'm fine, and even when I believe I'm fine, somehow, I must not be. Grief. Depression. Bitterness. Sneaking. Hiding. Sin. I wear it all around my middle. It clings to me and I can't seem to shake it, no matter how hard I run or how many reps I lift or how much I can wrap my arms around my legs in a forward fold.
---
Whew. I know I always say to "keep it real, y'all," and apparently, that's what I just did. 'Cause that just got really real, really fast.
As I'm writing this, and attempting to come down from the "rage mountaintop" a nap-fighting, screaming 16-month old gave me this afternoon, I'm sitting on the couch next to some empty candy wrappers, the TV remotes, a baby monitor, and a water jug I should have refilled hours ago. The television is paused on the ultimate trashy guilty pleasure. The dishes from last night are still sitting in the sink. My teeth have about an inch of grime on them because I've yet to brush them today. My phone is sitting at 1% battery life because (like the water jug) I just don't want to get up and walk the 20 feet to plug it in.
But I wrote this post. It had been sitting, unfinished for about a month now. And something this afternoon prompted me to open it up and just start writing. I don't even know if where I started this afternoon meshes with what was previously written. I'm not going to check. I just needed to write. Things were crouching inside me that I didn't even know were there. Dark things. Secret things. Hiding in the corners of my mind and slowly poisoning me.
This helped. Finding those things helped. They're not gone, but at least they're no longer hidden. I can see the monsters now, and (just like any scary movie you ever see) that somehow makes them less scary. Now it's time to assess them, rally my weapons around me (friends, prayer, Jesus, Truth, Love), and take them down, one by one.
-
Here's to keeping it real, y'all.
I have taken a lot of time to process with friends and family already, and I feel like I have come out the other side intact. It's different than the first time because I didn't have to go through the same physical difficulties. It's different than the second time because I'm not wondering if we'll ever have a child someday. This time I have a sweet (albeit teething) boy to snuggle, and plenty of experience to fall back on.
Ok, so this might sound weird to some of you, sad to others, and understandable to a few. I find myself wondering why people keep asking if I'm doing all right. I felt like I was able to process and go through the steps of handling this loss quickly this time, and it's because this is the third time I've had to go through it.
Am I the only one who feels this way when going through this kind of loss/trial so often?
Every now and then something pops up in me to remind me that I am not 100% OK. That my natural optimism, hopefulness, and positivity has been damaged.
-When a couple I know says they're ready to have another child and are already talking about their next pregnancy with the expectation that it will result in a live birth. And my reaction? I want to tell them to be cautious. Don't use that terrible word, "when." Use the safe word: "if."
-When I avoid all the newborn clothing sections in stores because it just doesn't make sense to coo over a precious set of footie pajamas.
-When precious people in my life have children so close together in age, and when people around me talk about how, yes, it was really hard, but now they're so grateful their kids are only a year apart, and I find myself already regretting the fact that Junior won't be that close in age to a future sibling. That I'll never be a "two under two" mom like I always wanted.
-When, now, over a month after the event, my body is attempting to start a new menstrual cycle and my hormones are wildly out of control. We're talking white-hot-rage out of control. Why, oh why, does my body create this deadly chemical cocktail of fury and impatience in me? Me, who never before struggled with an anger problem. Me, who always prided myself on my ability to maintain a level head in the face of absurdity or futility. It's been over a year since I have felt anger on this level, and the last occasion was the final swan song (is that redundant?) of my PPD.
-When the weight just WON'T. STOP. PILING. ON. Seriously. Won't stop. 10 pounds in one month, y'all. TEN. And I know that even when I say I'm fine, and even when I believe I'm fine, somehow, I must not be. Grief. Depression. Bitterness. Sneaking. Hiding. Sin. I wear it all around my middle. It clings to me and I can't seem to shake it, no matter how hard I run or how many reps I lift or how much I can wrap my arms around my legs in a forward fold.
---
Whew. I know I always say to "keep it real, y'all," and apparently, that's what I just did. 'Cause that just got really real, really fast.
As I'm writing this, and attempting to come down from the "rage mountaintop" a nap-fighting, screaming 16-month old gave me this afternoon, I'm sitting on the couch next to some empty candy wrappers, the TV remotes, a baby monitor, and a water jug I should have refilled hours ago. The television is paused on the ultimate trashy guilty pleasure. The dishes from last night are still sitting in the sink. My teeth have about an inch of grime on them because I've yet to brush them today. My phone is sitting at 1% battery life because (like the water jug) I just don't want to get up and walk the 20 feet to plug it in.
But I wrote this post. It had been sitting, unfinished for about a month now. And something this afternoon prompted me to open it up and just start writing. I don't even know if where I started this afternoon meshes with what was previously written. I'm not going to check. I just needed to write. Things were crouching inside me that I didn't even know were there. Dark things. Secret things. Hiding in the corners of my mind and slowly poisoning me.
This helped. Finding those things helped. They're not gone, but at least they're no longer hidden. I can see the monsters now, and (just like any scary movie you ever see) that somehow makes them less scary. Now it's time to assess them, rally my weapons around me (friends, prayer, Jesus, Truth, Love), and take them down, one by one.
-
Here's to keeping it real, y'all.
Hang in there, Mary Beth! Time does not heal all wounds, but it does seem to make them more bearable, and that's something. You are always in my thoughts and prayers.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your honesty dear friend. I cannot exactly relate to your deep losses, but I know a whole lot about the rest of what you wrote about. I'm finally getting my phone to stay charged (most days), my Netflix is on West Wing instead of Gilmore girls (mostly), I've stopped buying all those tempting foods (mostly... Doug's bringing me chocolate as he drives home), and my water cup has been empty all day too. I love you and praying words I don't have but God knows you need. Especially over the wild hormones, I loath mine (that's not a strong enough word) and absolutely hate how helpless I am to them.
ReplyDeleteAnd the weight and the gross teeth... All of it and I don't have what your heart is hurting from. Grace upon grace upon grace to you!
Delete