Upon My Return

I’m back…sorry for the radio silence last week. Tom and I went to Europe and I guess I was too anxious to write. We had a wonderful trip- it was our third anniversary, but really it was the last leg on Operation Speed Up Time To Get Past My Due Date (or whatever I called it before).

I’m very very sad that all the travel is over. Having three trips in a row kept me always looking forward and planning for something. It kept me excited. Now…well…it’s August 17th. I have to try and stay in the present for the next couple of weeks. I can’t dwell on the fact that I should be at the point where every time I call my mother she thinks it’s because I’m in labor. That is not the reality I’m in, no matter how much I want it.

My travels taught me that this pain will follow me. I can’t run, or hide, or move away and think that it won’t creep up on me sometimes. I know it sounds silly but I really thought “If ONLY I could move away…”. I have to settle for moving apartments, and accept that sitting in the pain won’t kill me. I’m getting there. Plus we found a sweet apartment.

But I also learned that there is now a part of my brain that mourns automatically. I don’t have to be so vigilant, because some base part of me has been so crushed. One day Tom and I woke up in Paris and I felt so heavy hearted. My energy level was so low, it was like I couldn’t lift my eyes to appreciate the beauty of Paris. We took it easy and ended up having a nice day, but then next morning I realized that it had been August 10th. Tommy Jr would have been three months old. He’d be off his respirator, he’d have creamy baby skin, his eyes would be open. I don’t want to be sad on his birthdays, I want to celebrate. But if I don’t take control of my emotions, they’ll take control of me. It’s like how your dog knows when it’s dinner time everyday…I think my hearts knows when I should be sad. Or wistful. Well someday I hope it’s more wistful than sad.

Once in a while I forget that I went through it all. Those are actually the worst times. Or when I think about how hard Tom’s first year of law school would be if we had a newborn. That’s when I feel the lowest, the most dangerous. That occasional and subconscious feeling of (I shudder as I type this) relief makes me want to lash out and prove my pain. Or at least go back to the days where I talked about it all the time. The catch, of course, is that it’s getting harder and harder for me to talk about. I feel so much pressure not to burden people, and to act like I’m ok. I mean I am ok…sometimes. But when I’m not, I feel more caged than ever.

This post is turning out to be more depressing than I intended. I wanted to write about how Tom and I had the most relaxing european vacation ever. I wanted to write about my new 30-day plan- inspired by one of my favorite authors A.J. Jacobs. I guess I’ll have to save those things for tomorrow’s post. I will leave you with a promise to get back to writing every day. Even if I think it’s stupid or too dark or too light. Like yesterday I wanted to write about how much I hate business that have puns for names. Or how strange it is that I keep seeing people with their dogs in baby carriages. I don’t know what held me back, but I’m ready now. I’m making a public commitment.

Thanks for sticking with me dear friends. It makes me feel less lonely knowing people are reading this, and empathizing, and rooting for me.