These days, I have this knot in my stomach that doesn't want to go away, this kind of all-pervading sadness that I can't seem to shake. Oh, sure, there are moments of happiness, laughter, fun...there have been some great ones in the past few weeks. They've been fantastic, and when they happen, I try to just give into them and ride the wave of happy emotion while I can.
But it's in the quiet moments that the sadness creeps back in. A lot of the time it happens at work or on the bus, when I'm not really able to distract myself much. I mean, neither creating a spreadsheet nor riding the #18 is terribly mentally stimulating, so I find that while I'm doing those things, I have a lot of time to just brood.
These feelings are so illogical, it seems. Well, I guess it's not so much the feelings as the extreme nature of them. I'm just sort of shocked that I feel this strongly. It's so primal. And the feelings about being pregnant again (PSA: we have not decided yet when that will happen) are intense as well. I want to be pregnant again so badly. I can't even explain why. I wrote a bit about it the other day in the journal I've been keeping:
I want to try again right away but I'm not sure why I do. Is it because I really want the baby at the end of the process? Or is it more that I'm jealous of others' experiences? I kind of think it's more about the baggage at this point than about wanting the baby. And is that right? No. It should be about the baby.
I don't know, though. As much as this whole pregnancy felt SO REAL to me, and as much as I envisioned our lives with a baby (to some extent, anyway), I think the whole concept did remain hazy in my mind. Kind of undefined. I mean, I know there were times I deliberately didn't think about the ramifications of having a baby because I was afraid of them: lack of sleep, handling daycare, going back to work, etc. I just tried to think of the good things: the feeling I would have when I held my baby for the first time, what it would feel like to watch Brett hold her for the first time, taking walks on sunny days, snuggling, the physical experience of breastfeeding, wearing her in a sling or wrap of some kind, just holding her while she sleeps.
It's easier, I think, to think of having a child in the micro rather than the macro. And maybe that's because I've never had a child, so all I know are the small, micro things that make up day-to-day life with a child. I can't yet know the macro -- the feeling of love I've heard described, the feeling that even though your life will never be the
same, you wouldn't trade it for the world.
I guess I feel like I have to justify this desire to be pregnant again. I'm not sure to whom (maybe myself?!), but I do feel that pressure. Maybe it's because all of this is so primal that it's not describable, which makes me uncomfortable. I like to be able to name things, to understand them, to pick them apart. And I can't with this, which is uncomfortable and strange for me.
There are moments throughout the day when I just can't think about all of this any longer or I feel like I will explode. And there are also moments when I feel like if I don't think about it I will explode. It's so bizarre. I don't understand any of it, and I hate that.
I told a guy at work about the miscarriage today. He and his wife both went to my college, although they graduated many years before I did. It's such a small, close-knit school, that even though we didn't go there at the same time, we've always felt a connection. Plus, he and his wife are Christians, so we have that in common too.
He's one of the higher-up guys in our area, so we don't see him too often at our building, but he was here this morning for a meeting. He was asking how I'm doing, and mentioned that I'd been out sick for a few weeks, and asked if I was feeling better. And then it just slipped out of my mouth -- "Well, actually, I had a miscarriage."
He was so sweet. He is this important, big, tan, athletic man, and he got tears in his eyes and gave me a hug, and said he would be praying for us. It just meant a lot that he was clearly touched and that he really cares. Once again -- another reason why I love working where I do: people really do care about you.
That's all anyone can do, really -- show sympathy, give a hug, listen, and pray. Thankfully, I have people around me who are willing to do all of those things. It makes it a tiny bit easier to bear sometimes.