Thoughts at the end of a bad week

I’ll just preface this with saying that it’s been a bad week.

Today I would have been almost 32 weeks pregnant.  But 16 weeks ago my Abby died.  She’s been gone from me longer than she was with me now.  I don’t know how I walk around with this empty hole in my chest.

So then after trying to come to grips with her loss and planning to move forward, today was supposed to be the day that I was going to get knocked up again via FET.  But, since I made a horrible decision on the day my Abby left me, I now have a lead weight in my abdomen right below the gaping hole in my chest.

I just cannot wrap my brain around my life, the things that have happened to me that I had no control over and the bad decisions I made that I did have control over.  I thought I could move forward but I just can’t right now.

I wish I had just stopped TTC after Sweetie.  I would have had three miscarriages and then one beautiful baby.  I wish I would have stopped then.  I would have been a far happier person (not happy, because I would have always felt like I wanted more babies) but I wouldn’t have destroyed everything else in my life by pushing through two more 1st trimester miscarriages and then the 2nd trimester loss.  I would have been a far better mother if I had just stopped after having Sweetie.  I would have been a far better wife if I had just stopped.  I wouldn’t have hated my body so much- I would have carried her to term and breast fed her for over a year and stopped while I still felt like my body could still do something ‘right’.  I would have been sad that I only had my one child, but I wouldn’t have wished for my own death every single day like I do now.  I wouldn’t have lost so many friends because I’m just a shitty, awkward person to be around because everyone just doesn’t know what to say and they feel sorry for me (and in the same breath they are really, REALLY happy that they don’t have to go through the shit I have).

I found out this week that two ‘friends’ are pregnant- not just new pregnancies or hitting the 2nd trimester.  Like 17 and 18 weeks pregnant.  Where I was when my little girl died.  And as if that isn’t enough- one of them found out she was pregnant the very week my little girl died.  She got a great Mother’s Day present and I had every future Mother’s Day ruined for me for the rest of my life.  She got to celebrate life and I once again just get stuck with death.  And grieving.  And grieving.

My psychiatrist says that my depression/anxiety meds are working ‘well’-  Um, ok, glad I’m paying you out the wazoo for this appointment when I don’t agree with you.  She doesn’t want to ‘overmedicate’ me so I don’t properly grieve.  What the hell?  Please, just overmedicate me.  I need something.  Anything.





With my head stuck in the sand

I’m coming up on the 8 week mark and the time that has passed really hit me today….when I looked at my dog.

I have a great little dog who was my ‘baby’ for over 1.5 years until I had Sweetie.  He’s a snuggler and I adore him.  But he is high maintenance on the grooming side, and I have religiously taken him into the groomer every month since he was a puppy.

Well, the last trip to the groomer was mid-April, when I told our regular grooming ladies that I was expecting my second baby (they know nothing of the other 5, but I don’t work that into the conversation often).  They have seen Sweetie grow up when I brought her in as we dropped my dog off each month.  They were so happy for me as people tend to be when they hear news of a new baby-to-be.

Well, with my loss in May, my dog obviously didn’t make it in to see the groomer that week.  And then I canceled his June appointment, too.  I just couldn’t bear going in there and having them happily ask me about the baby when I knew I would lose it.  I’ve been putting it off and putting it off, and now I feel horrible.

My poor little guy is so overgrown and matted that he is probably going to need to be shaved.  I’m an awful dog-mama, I was so stuck on my own grief and fear of telling others my sad news in public that I unintentionally neglected him.  I know, he’ll forgive me.  But this is a wake-up call that I can’t totally stick my head in the sand as much as I may want to.