When You Move On.

No time is enough.

Sometimes there is the sensation that it has been one very long pregnancy, and that the current one is a simple fallacy because obviously the baby has already died.  It died almost a year ago.  So there IS no child in me kicking.  So there IS no need to prepare.  So there is no way to get excited about baby clothes or this and that because...it isn't real.

Don't you realize my baby died?

Why are you still talking about it?  Asking me about it?  Wanting to know about it?

Why are you asking about my dead baby?


Sometimes I get the feeling instead that there is a baby there, but it isn't mine.  Because, again, mine died.  I don't feel invested.  This is my husband's baby.  But it isn't my baby.


Sometimes I get terrified because I think it is the same baby, and it died, it died, it died, it died, it DIED.


I always feel guilty because I am not the shining, happy mother everyone expects me to be.  Because sometimes there are holes in my enthusiasm, or I do not smile wildly enough.  Sometimes you see through my little barrier and you get the impression you can even sense the depth of my grief, my terror, my guilt.  You don't.

Let's just get that straight.

You don't.

Please, just don't tell me about how hard it must be when sometimes your body rebels against you.  Doesn't cooperate.  Like I was just a broken machine that malfunctioned, threw a part, killed a baby.

Don't give me ANY inkling that you think you know what is going through my head, because chances are, what I am thinking is that I want you to stop talking now so I can change the subject.

We don't need to discuss this.

We need to just wait this out for another three months.  Just try not to panic and scream "GET IT OUT" for another three months.  Don't claw at your stomach or scrunch up your face or cry hysterically in the shower because you can't get it out for another three months.  Just breathe and wait.

Just breathe.

And wait.