In Pregnancy and Infant Loss groups, "hanging in there" is code for "not great but not suicidal." It's what you say when someone asks how you're doing. Most of the time I'm just "hanging in there." Sometimes I'm happy. I laugh. I smile. Mostly at my kids and husband. But I still cry. More than I'd like to admit. I think about Carys all of the time. ALL.OF.THE.TIME. When I'm driving. When I'm cooking or washing the dishes or cleaning or doing laundry. When I'm lying awake at night. And I lie awake at night a lot.
It's been 14 weeks now since the D&C. I've now been not pregnant longer than I was pregnant. It seems like that should mean something. That I've healed and we're moving on. And we are. Or we're trying to. Moving on without her hurts though. I know I have to, but I really, really don't want to. It's like time is dragging me kicking and screaming into a future without my baby girl, like a mom drags her unruly toddler out to the car to get to whatever appointment they're already late for (a scene this family knows all too well). I know it's happening whether I want it to or not...just don't expect me to be happy about it.
The kids are adjusting well. For Christmas I arranged for them to have teddy bears with a recording of Carys's heartbeat inside. They love those bears. Jesse has actually taken his to school and to his home day care. I'm honestly not certain how it's been received, but he really treasures that bear. And I want him to be able to talk about the baby and know that it's OK to do so. He's told me he's going to keep his bear til he's "really old like Grampy." (Grampy is my grandfather.) Every so often Quinn comes up to me and asks if there's a baby in my belly. When I say "no" he says "baby died." "Yes Quinn, baby died." Then he gives me a kiss and a hug. He's really very sweet.
So, where do we go from here? We're trying again. It's incredibly stressful and daunting. Our last two pregnancies did not come easy for us. And while we're not over the hill, we no spring chickens either. If we get pregnant soon, assuming the pregnancy is healthy and I don't miscarry again, I'll be 34 when baby comes. If it takes a while to get knocked up, I'll be 35. I know a few months here or there don't make a huge difference, but being 35 earns you the label "advanced maternal age." I'd prefer to avoid that. I know I'm probably over-analyzing and over-thinking everything. But that's just what I do. I don't know how else to "be."
I really suck at writing. I never know how to end these posts. So I guess I'll just end it with the video for song that I've been listening to a lot lately. It's "Let Her Go" by Passenger.
It's been 14 weeks now since the D&C. I've now been not pregnant longer than I was pregnant. It seems like that should mean something. That I've healed and we're moving on. And we are. Or we're trying to. Moving on without her hurts though. I know I have to, but I really, really don't want to. It's like time is dragging me kicking and screaming into a future without my baby girl, like a mom drags her unruly toddler out to the car to get to whatever appointment they're already late for (a scene this family knows all too well). I know it's happening whether I want it to or not...just don't expect me to be happy about it.
The kids are adjusting well. For Christmas I arranged for them to have teddy bears with a recording of Carys's heartbeat inside. They love those bears. Jesse has actually taken his to school and to his home day care. I'm honestly not certain how it's been received, but he really treasures that bear. And I want him to be able to talk about the baby and know that it's OK to do so. He's told me he's going to keep his bear til he's "really old like Grampy." (Grampy is my grandfather.) Every so often Quinn comes up to me and asks if there's a baby in my belly. When I say "no" he says "baby died." "Yes Quinn, baby died." Then he gives me a kiss and a hug. He's really very sweet.
So, where do we go from here? We're trying again. It's incredibly stressful and daunting. Our last two pregnancies did not come easy for us. And while we're not over the hill, we no spring chickens either. If we get pregnant soon, assuming the pregnancy is healthy and I don't miscarry again, I'll be 34 when baby comes. If it takes a while to get knocked up, I'll be 35. I know a few months here or there don't make a huge difference, but being 35 earns you the label "advanced maternal age." I'd prefer to avoid that. I know I'm probably over-analyzing and over-thinking everything. But that's just what I do. I don't know how else to "be."
I really suck at writing. I never know how to end these posts. So I guess I'll just end it with the video for song that I've been listening to a lot lately. It's "Let Her Go" by Passenger.
