Monday, October 16, 2017

Guess who cried at the pumpkin patch??




We did the hayrack ride, and sitting directly across from me was a baby about the same age my July 2017 baby would be. She had a ton of dark hair and was wearing a gold headband I saved to pinterest, dreamed about, while pregnant.

 That was bad enough-- then I realized the arrival of my period the previous day means I'm definitely going to be very UNpregnant when I attend that baby shower next weekend. I managed not to sob or openly weep but I was definitely crying on the goddamn hayrack and it was probably obvious. 

Say what you want about me, guys, but there is one stone cold fact no one can deny: I know how to fuckin' party.


I'm just in complete and total hell. It's not going anywhere and it's not getting any easier. In our temple service we say a little thing for those sick, suffering, or otherwise "in need of healing."  I nearly cried about four times, 'cause hi, that's me. Fix it, fix it, help me, I silently beg the universe, and no one is listening. No one cares.

I miss every one of them every second of every day. I feel like an arm fell off, and not only am I now trying to learn how to function while missing an essential limb, I am also trying to deal with loss of blood and a huge, untreated wound-hole in the side of my body. And I'm supposed to keep on chugging along as normal through all of this. 

I look back at myself this time last year, feeling sad and jelly while all my TTC friends got pregnant pregnate praighneit!!! and I'm so sad. With a few notable exceptions, all of those people are holding babies now, bitching about how faaaaaat they feel. I want to hug past me and warn her of the storm ahead. 

I'm just fucking sad and so powerless. I don't know how to survive this.  I'm going to, because I have no choice. But I really don't see how. 

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

You can run, but you can't hide




Oh my god, yes. Or a pregnant belly. And you're happy for them in that detatched, "good for you, random stranger," sort of way, but man, it really is a knife in the heart every time. I saw two little ones today just about the age our July 2017 baby shoulda coulda woulda been now, and a belly on a woman who must have a due date near my December one. I mean, yay for them, wooooo, but it's just jalapeno juice in the wound, because mine should be here, too. That should be me, and it's not, x4.

And you can never escape it. Ever. Leave the house? Slapped in the face with bellies and newborns. Unwind with TV or a movie? Surprise pregnancies as far as the eye can see. Scroll through social media? Pregnancy announcements, updates, complaints, ultrasounds, weekly goddamn belly pictures. Go to work? Karen from three cubes down won't shut the front door about her daughter's pregnancy. Pick up a magazine? CELEBRITY BUMP WATCH!!! 

((Side note, EVERY time I have miscarried, a celebrity announces an O!M!G! pregnancy within weeks, often days. Kelly Clarkson, Beyonce, Serena Williams, and Mindy Kaling/Kylie Jenner. In that order. Every goddamn time.))

Hell, I tried to read a book to distract myself when I lost my December baby, and there was-- no shit-- an accidental surprise "we literally had sex one time" pregnancy DUE IN THE EXACT SAME WEEK OF DECEMBER! I would've thrown the book if I hadn't been reading it on my phone. Instead my brain shut down and I stared at the ceiling for like 10 solid minutes. 

This is a thing so very many of us loss moms (and, I would imagine, infertility moms) have in common. It's hard for TONS of us. This is a frequent topic of conversation in our internet support groups. Pregnancy announcements, complaining about symptoms we'd just about die to get back, high-larious jokes about accidental pregnancies or how easy it is to just shoot out kids like a water slide, well-meaning but invasive comments about when we're having kids [or the next kid]... The list goes on and on. And I will tell you, every time someone posts about it and says, "is it just me?" she also expresses her guilt over these feelings. This is why I don't think I've ever heard a single person say, publicly, in mixed company, that these topics are difficult. We're afraid that those who've never had a loss will not understand, will assume we are just selfish and bitter, will judge. And nobody needs that, least of all in the midst of a shitstorm of grief. 

So we just shut up and smile through dumb comments or stupid Karen's 4,500 newborn pics (THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME, KAREN) then go cry in a bathroom because there literally is no escape unless you go dig a hole in the woods and live there. Ever.


Unrelated, if anyone has a backhoe or excavator they're willing to loan out for digging holes in the woods, let me know.

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Far beyond the moon

I don't think anyone ever even sees this, but in the interest of continuity, we have had three further losses. Loss, baby, loss, loss, loss.

I'm sure this will come as a shock but this sucks! It sucks 10,000,000 times more than just having had one, or two. Each one is worse and makes me feel more and more isolated. 

After one loss, I felt like I was on some distant planet, full of other bereaved mothers. We can see the happy, innocent, never-had-a-loss mamas down on their own planet, carefree. Able to enjoy the privilege of saying really cute things like "I'm just enjoying my pregnancy." They know we exist, but only in as a vague, scary idea. At least we bereaved mamas had each other to cling to. 

At that point I thought I understood. I thought a loss mama was a loss mama, whether we'd lost one or two or five. Oh, what a sweet summer child I was. 

It's not the same. One is so bad, I literally can't find language to tell you how much worse second, third, etc. losses are. One is unimaginable. Two is worse. Three is literal torture.  Four is hell. After each subsequent loss, I felt like I got bounced to another, yet more distant planet, more and more isolated, further and further removed from normal pregnant people. From anything the average person can understand. 

At this point I find myself on a desolate, frozen planet, so sparsely populated I may as well be alone.  One or two more losses, and I'm afraid I may just float away like Major Tom. Party!