Useless

When I was pregnant, I felt like I had found my reason for being. Motherhood was the thing I was meant to do, and all of my thoughts were centered on growing my little daughter. When she died, I feel like I lost my purpose. Now I feel directionless. Useless. Adrift.

I was a little surprised to find that my husband, usually so focused, feels much the same as I do. It's like no matter what we do to distract ourselves, she is RIGHT THERE in the front of our minds. He copes by keeping busy and by faking it. I'm not a very good faker. I don't really know if I'm coping. He said to me a week ago or so, "you know, you're not betraying her if you need to have a break and be distracted." I answered with a bucket of tears. Perceptive, my husband.

One of the only things that is keeping me sane is concentrating on getting strong again so we can try to conceive in May or June. I don't even know what my cycles will be like in a few months, yet I sit here and calculate different conception dates over and over and look at calendars and think about what each would mean at work. I think about the date I would go off work, I wonder if the OB will recommend an early induction...or if I'll demand one out of fear. I know I plan to go off at 32 weeks for my peace of mind (that is the earliest I can begin maternity leave, unless I am put on sick leave due to having a high risk pregnancy). I can admit that it is all an obsession. I am grateful for all of the support group forums online that assure me I am not crazy and that many other mamas feel the same.

It's funny in a way, because I think constantly about being pregnant again, but I don't often let myself ponder a happy outcome. I don't often think about taking home a baby the next time around. Maybe it's because I don't know what that feels like. I know funerals, empty bassinets, packed-up clothes, and boxed up hospital mementos on the table in our hallway. I wonder how I will act differently, and what things I'll do the same. I worry about the anxiety, about another potentially terrible outcome. I worry that maybe I'm infertile now, or maybe I'll have a miscarriage. Other times, I have very brief surges of faith that everything will be okay. Like I have a guarantee, a "safe pass" next time. Then I remember that plans are our way of fooling ourselves into thinking we're in control.

One of my biggest concerns is about not being able to celebrate the same way I did with Haven. I don't think she could have been more celebrated and anticipated if I'd stood on the tallest building in my city and yelled it out for the world to hear. She was like a little celebrity; pictures of my bump covered facebook, I put up blog posts, I constantly talking about her. I feel bad that I won't be able to do that for my next little one. That I won't be able to have a baby shower because of the flashbacks. That I won't be able to buy things for him or her as easily. That I won't be able to quell the anxiety or relax and just enjoy everything. That I'll probably be in and out of clinics and the hospital due to extra monitoring and my constant fears.

It's sad that losing a baby at the end like we did means that you suddenly don't fit in anywhere anymore. You don't fit in with your childless friends or your friends with kids, because you're a parent without a child. And when I'm pregnant again, I won't fit in with the first time mothers anymore, because I'm not one of those either.

I wonder if other people notice that I'm always in the fog now? I talk to people and I hear them, but I feel like it all happens at a distance. Like we're yelling to each other through a long tunnel. They're over there in Real World and I'm in Haven Land. Maybe one day I'll get up the strength to make the trip and find my way back over there...