I walked back to my office clutching my salad and saw the guy who’s office is down the hall. He smiled and said “Hey! Are you a mom now?”<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I shook my head. Smile-grimaced: “No..er..well…we lost the baby.”<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He looked stunned. He said he was so sorry and that we’d be in his thoughts. I apologized for having to tell him, I told him we would try again someday, I thanked him for asking and for his sympathy.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The tears felt hot on my face as I walked away. I wanted to say that I am a mother now, that my heart has changed so much since I met my son. I wanted to tell him how sweet it was that he remembered I was pregnant, and that I hoped he wouldn’t avoid me now. I wanted to say that sometimes I feel like a leper, because some people just can’t handle the grief that surrounds me like a bad smell.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I have to keep telling myself that I’m a mother. This pain is so consuming, so self-absorbing that sometimes it’s impossible to take a step back and look at my life. It’s ok for me to just say “Yes, I am a mother now.” I am. And at this point I can handle the follow up questions- usually the people who ask are gentle and kind. Usually. <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But it’s a constant struggle to stay in control. I can feel myself slipping away sometimes, and being replaced by a hollow girl. I can’t remember what I used to think was important. <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I know it’s not like me to say this, I know I’m losing perspective…but I hate this life. I don’t want to be strong, I don’t want to heal or mourn. I just don’t want any of this. I want to reach into the grief and pull myself out. I want my baby back. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I walked back to my office clutching my salad and saw the guy who’s office is down the hall. He smiled and said “Hey! Are you a mom now?” I shook my head. Smile-grimaced: “No..er..well…we lost the baby.” He looked stunned. He said he was so sorry and that we’d be in his … Continue reading “Stumbled”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2112","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2112","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2112"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2112\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3503,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2112\/revisions\/3503"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2112"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2112"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.poorluckyme.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2112"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}