I don't wanna hear it

I can't take it anymore.
I really can't.
Listening to pregnant women talk about nothing but pregnancy.
Listening to parents complain.
Listening to parents delight in the storytelling that comes with parenthood.
I can't deal with it anymore.
I want to scream.
I want to cry.
I want to feel something other than anger...resentment...jealousy...fear...sadness.
I should be over this.
I should be better.
I should be playing with a one-year-old.
I should be pregnant right now.
I should be happy.
It sounds so juvenile...like one of Sam's temper tantrums.
I want.
Gimme.
But what I really want to know...
Where is the justice in this?
My poor innocent babies.
Dying before they had a chance to live.
There are no reasons...no explanations...good enough.

I saw a photo of myself playing in the pool the other day with Sam. I still look pregnant. I told my coworker how horrible I feel over the way I look and she looked at me incredulously and said, "It hasn't been that long since you WERE pregnant."

Oh God. She's right. Two months. It's only been two months. I so want to forget it all...pretend it happened to someone else. But there it is...the photographic proof...the deflated belly...the sagging breasts...the enormous ass in a bathing suit (and my butt was big too).

There is a difference to this. There is a defeated feeling that I've never had before. I imagine it's what it feels like to drown...to finally give in to that moment when you can paddle no more and just let the water swallow you up. The decision made, there is no more hoping for rescue...saying goodbye to your life...not making peace with the universe...but submitting to it completely...giving up...letting go.

My dear sweet husband has become the king of distraction. He doesn't know what else to do. Bless his sweet heart for all the extra weight he carries without complaint. He is far more gracious than I. The unkindness and the selfishness that he has faced far outweighs mine. But he doesn't talk about it.

I think he doesn't talk about it because he still hopes. Hopes for relationships to magically mend. Hopes for some tiny smidgen of understanding from those who can not understand (or do not wish to). Hopes for a replacement happiness to take over our lives to give us a new direction...toward a new future...something we never imagined.

We have to remind ourselves that the here and now is not what we imagined...so a future that is completely opposite what we dreamed isn't too scary. He carries hope for both of us right now. Because I just don't have the strength. Good times and bad. Sickness and health.

So I don't wanna hear it. Any of it. From anyone. And if that sounds juvenile...well...tough noogies.