Today was, by far, the hardest day so far. A week ago I knew. I just knew. And now here we are with seven-year-old life slowly creeping back in...school runs (complete with a lady with a little baby standing at the door...making me silently scream inside my head), baseball practice, cub scouts. And I don't want to do any of it.
I want to sit...and cry...and then stare at a blank wall...and then cry some more. Oh, I have spurts of energy where I do a load of laundry or mop the floor or straighten things up...but it all takes so much energy. I still can't go up and down our stairs without feeling winded. The walk across the street from the car to the school just about wore me out.
Then there's the belly. There aren't big enough clothes to sufficiently hide the 19week-lost-pregnancy bulge (and it really is too warm to wear my winter coat). It mocks me...all big and round as if there is still life there (and can we talk about how to stop the phantom kicks?). What a giant cruel joke.
Just the IDEA of going to work next week makes me want to slip into the tub and drown myself.
I'm thinking that tomorrow I might buy some pansies and plant them at the cemetery. I haven't been there in so long (I thought it might be bad luck...HA!). But I'm not sure I can even accomplish that.
And I keep thinking about the blog exchange with the anonymous commenter a couple weeks ago. Why did I do this to myself?!?!?! Hope?!?!?! What the...?!?!?! I'm such a fool.