Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Two Months

Two months ago, I got the call. The call that I’m pretty sure stopped my heart for a few minutes. The call that I was terrified I would get. I’m not going to go on about what happened and how it happened because I’ve already done that. It was a sucky day that lead to a sucky weekend that’s lead me through a sucky two months.

Two months and a day ago, I was so filled with joy and hope. I was looking forward to my future as a mom, to our future as parents. My husband picked me up from work that Thursday, we went to the compound pharmacy to pick up some progesterone. My sister called it “Vag Candy”, my husband and I laughed about it while we were waiting. Then we went to dinner. I was telling him that I was excited about my shirt, because the way it fit, I’d be able to wear it pretty far into the pregnancy. We were trying to think of relatives that had blue eyes, to see if maybe there was a chance we’d have a blue eyed angel. On the drive home I told him how happy I was that I would get to celebrate Mother’s Day this year, and that he’d get to do the same for Father’s Day. We talked about how we liked the bigger two bedroom apartments, even though the pantry was smaller. He said his brother would help us move so that I didn’t have to do any lifting, I could just direct. I was thinking of holiday traditions we’d get to continue on and start new this year.

I was planning ahead, planning our future.

And then the next day, none of that mattered.

I spent the next two months looking at the past. The contrast in my train of thoughts is so different, it scares me. I still worry that I won’t be able to get back to who I was. Yes, I’ve been getting better slowly, day by day. But I would be lying if I told you that I was as okay and happy as I act. I’m not. I don’t want to be confronted about how I feel. I don’t want to be told that someone is worried or thinks that I am too depressed. I don’t want people to worry about me; people have enough things to worry about without adding me to their list. So I fake it, sometimes I can fake it so well I think that I might be that okay. But I’m not.

I am still a mess. A mess that no quicker picker upper can clean up.

The past haunts me, and the future escapes me.


1 comment:

You read it, you might as well comment right! And honestly, I love comments. They get sent directly to my email, which I of course get on my phone because I am addicted to your comments.