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You know what gets me? I didn't even want to be pregnant.
There...I said it.
I didn't want it because I'd made peace with the way things were. I was finally in a GOOD place and I didn't want to risk...
well...
THIS.
So now there's all this guilt. Even though I know it was just my freaky biology that is to blame, I feel like it's my fault for not wanting it enough (because I know that's all it takes is to want a baby badly enough for everything to be all unicorns and rainbows).
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This morning my sweet Sam-a-lama told me it is "pretty embarassing when you kiss me in public," and I felt the earth shift. I laughed and kissed him anyway...and then I practically ran to the minivan-I-love-to-hate and had a very thorough cry.
The loss of Little Bug means more somehow because it is not that surprise ending we hoped we were getting where the universe miraculously regained some sort of balance. We don't get to ride off in the sunset with three children.
Life goes on filled with all the normal stuff...plus a boatload of heavy luggage. But when my big kid tells me he's embarassed, I feel a gaping hole where all the kisses from lost babies could have been. When Myles plays hard-to-get and refuses me a hug, I feel the joke of it (it IS adorable)...but I also feel an emptiness that I don't think I can explain. I push it down as far as it will go and TRY to stay in the moment because I think that's what they deserve...what we deserve. I need to do better for them. I didn't do better for Little Bug and now I regret it. I don't want to have regrets.
But it's all too much.
Yesterday, I visited the cemetery for the first time in a long time (I thought it might somehow bring me bad luck...HA!). A blue pinwheel for Alex and a purple pinwheel for Travis. Neither of my living boys got pinwheels...and neither one complained.
The silence was deafening.
And then the living among us went for ice cream.
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I want to say something eloquent about all of this. But what wants to come out is a string of profanities (I do try to filter them out before publishing...and I apologize if/when one slips through)...and OMG...and tears...and things I've already said...
I can't believe I have an original thought left in my head.
Today I walked to the local convenience store for a Diet Dr. Pepper and had this vision of myself (hair clearly un-styled, no makeup, Crocs on my feet) as the lady who lost three babies and then went crazy. The stuff of urban legend. And I laughed at the thought because who would have ever thought I would be urban legend for anything?!?!
I've said things I shouldn't have...some deserved...some probably not. I have more things I want to say...again...over and over and over and over until it's not so fucking horrible anymore.
Can someone tell me when that will be?!?!?
Maybe I should just be quiet for a while. I know I've said that before and my need for validation drove me back here. But there is none to be found anymore...and this is just making me even more desperate...
Besides which, every.single.thing other people say or do makes me want to scream and punch and kick and claw. Everyone is so kind...or so clueless...or so something that it just pisses me off. That crazy lady from the urban legend wants to just go insane and freak the fuck out at EVERYTHING.
(Steve and I have taken to saying "FUCK" (and other oh-so-lovely words)...a lot. We really need to stop because this morning I heard Sam mutter under his breath, "Now where the hell is my jacket?" Yeah. Parent of the Year material here.)
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And really, I know he's only seven...but is it really too much to ask that Sam stop asking me why I'm sad?!?! I mean...COME...ON!
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If I still believed in God, I'd beg...
Give me ONE TINY ITTY BITTY TEENSY WEENSY LITTLE mercy here...please?!?!
Maybe this is my punishment for not believing. Maybe I'll just be pulverized until I cry "uncle."
There ya go God-freaks...ammunition. No charge (I aim to please here at EIUC).
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Peace.
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13 comments:
I know that probably everything people say or DON'T say pisses you off at this point...there just isn't a whole lot to say because it SUCKS.
When people say, "I'm sorry," I cringe...I always want to say, "What are you sorry for? You didn't do anything...my freaking body did. So why are YOU sorry? Or are you just sorry because you FEEL sorry for me?"
anyway, yeah...punch and click and claw and scream...all of those.
punishment for not believing? hardly.
the thing that s-u-c-k-s is that there ARE no answers...which is what REALLY sucks.
i am going to hit "publish" before i take it all back - i am such an oracle, you know...the masses clamor for my wisdom.
i think on some level, maybe, the blog is a release for you. or maybe not...maybe it's just a big freaking frustration at this point.
I have nothing. Just that I'm thinking of you.
I've started this a bunch of times....wanting to say something..ANYTHING...and yet not wanting to...
so I'll just say what i always do.
i love you.
this is all just shitty.
you're beautiful.
and i'm listening.......
Peace and love my friend.
"Besides which, every.single.thing other people say or do makes me want to scream and punch and kick and claw. Everyone is so kind...or so clueless...or so something that it just pisses me off."
This makes absolute perfect sense. No one can say anything to make it better, or explain it, or fix it - so everything people say must just make it hurt more instead.
And I'm so profoundly sorry about that, my friend. I truly am.
I will still love you no matter how many "fucks" you let fly when I see you again. Maybe we can have a contest to see who can inject it in a conversation the most. ;) Or maybe I will just send my dad to your house for a week and you will never want to say it again. He has that affect on people. ;) Also, that is where I learned it from.
I think you need a road trip and you need to head west young lady. All the way west to WI. ;)
"Besides which, every.single.thing other people say or do makes me want to scream and punch and kick and claw. Everyone is so kind...or so clueless...or so something that it just pisses me off. That crazy lady from the urban legend wants to just go insane and freak the fuck out at EVERYTHING."
Yes, i think this makes total sense. I would be surprised if you felt any different. Still, i sit here & answer, and blither-blather...just so you know i am here, reading, and thinking of you.
That was me in the post above. Can't keep my identity straight.
I didn't feel ready to be pregnant again, when I got pregnant. And I spent a fair amount of time during the 20 weeks I was pregnant worried about how I was going to handle A and a newborn. And then, he died.
Now, I hate people who have children even closer than 2 years apart. I hate them for actually getting to have their kids, and for feeling that they could handle that many small kids. Don't I sound so healthy?
Oh, and hating what everyone says? Yep, me too. I think secretly, it is because i want someone to say the magical ONE thing that will make this ALL better, and they don't, they never do, so I just get mad.
Well, I like to read your thoughts Catherine, because your thoughts often help me clarify mine. But I would never deny anyone their rightful "quiet time".
Hugs to you.
it makes sense that the loss of Little Bug means more, in the way you say. it's the last straw, the finger uncurled at whatever sense of balance in the universe you might have, y'know, been counting on.
it really isn't fair, and i'm sorry. i know that's a lame offering, and you are free to cuss me out eloquently. but i just want you to know i'm here, reading, receiving, thinking of you. abiding.
I love you, FWIW.
Fuck, I swear, look a wreck and wear crocs. Urban legend, huh? I'll take that.
FWIW, I'm here thinking of you, swearing like a sailor on your behalf (and yeah, my kids probably are too, oh well).
nothing profound, but hopefully nothing too annoying, just more thoughts, love and prayers coming from here. i think about you multiple times daily and just wish there was anything i could do to help.
JEN
fuck was our word of choice too, my favourite way to use it was "this is so fucked up" usually said very loudly.
hugs xxx
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