I knew I hadn't blogged in a while, but I didn't realize it had been over two months. I know that no one reads this blog as a way to fill some sort of void in their life, so I really don't NEED to apologize for being gone for so long. I feel like I should apologize though. I can't explain it. I think I do that a lot - apologize. Anyway, whether I need to do it or not, I'm apologizing for being gone for so long.
Apologizing for not writing makes me a little sick. I usually love to write, and this blog was a place for me to do that. Whether I was writing about nail polish or losing our baby or music or whatever, blogging made me feel like I was connecting to that person that lives inside of myself - like she was finally getting to say all those things she was thinking. Knowing that she has not had that opportunity for quite some time makes me feel sad for her. And knowing that it's entirely possible that I won't blog again for a few more months makes that apology I just made up there seem trite.
It's the same old song when things go wrong (right Dad?), and when things go wrong with me, I suddenly drop the things I love. For MONTHS I have neglected writing, reading, cooking...all things I love intensely. It's as if I have simply lost the inspiration to do any of these activities. I have been working, cleaning house, watching TV and playing video games. That's about it. Looking back, I realize what a sad little existence I've been having lately, and I hate it.
Christmas was a blur. It was my worst Christmas ever, and I think it has everything to do with the fact that I knew deep inside that this should have been one of the best Christmases ever. I should have been very pregnant at Christmas, and instead my uterus reminded me day after day that it was empty. I thank God for my sister, who came to my rescue one Tuesday, and helped me get a jump start on cleaning my house for a church party we were hosting later that week. Her motivation to help me ignited the little bit of Christmas spirit that I had and it fueled me to get the house taken care of, presents wrapped, etc. I (hope) that Christmas came and went without my family realizing how miserable I was, but even if they didn't I guess the cat's out of the bag now. Oh well, it's over now. Maybe this Christmas will be better.
Some of my misery has a little to do with the increased hormones that are raging through my body. In December I started taking Clomid again, this time with Dexamethasone, a steroid that has been shown to increase fertility in some women when taken with Clomid. In December I took 50 mgs of Clomid. This month I am taking 100 mgs of Clomid, and next month (if I'm not pregnant) I will be taking 150 mgs. These meds, coupled with "coupling" obviously, should get me pregnant again. My new doctor is VERY optimistic, but I can't help feeling unsure. I am hopeful, but it seems like for a lot of my life, I am always waiting for that other shoe to drop. I can't help but think, "Okay, so we get pregnant. What if we lose THIS baby too?" The thought hurts me so much, I can't bear to think about it.
The pain that I have endured since August 11th is nothing short of monumental. Those first couple of days I kept getting comments from people about how strong I was, about how my faith was sustaining me, about how inspiring my attitude was. Looking back now, I think I was in shock over it all, and God's peace stepped in and allowed me to coast for a while. Since the reality of it all has sunk in, life just seems to suck a little. I close in on our due date, and I can't help but think about my friends who are due around the same time I was. I dread getting those calls from them to let me know their babies are here, safe and sound. I love them (and their babies) dearly, but will I be able to hold it together for them? Or will I break down in tears on the phone? I don't know...and I don't know how to prepare for it. I don't know how to prepare myself for February 26th either. Should we do something special, or just treat it like it's another day?
I can't help but get mad at God a little now and then about this whole mess. I mean, it took us almost 4 years to get pregnant to begin with. Shouldn't I have been able to keep the one baby we were actually able to conceive? Doesn't He see how unfair this is? Doesn't He know how much it hurts to lose a child? (Oh wait...yeah He does.) It just sucks. It sucks knowing that I can so easily turn my hurt and anger on God when I profess so much to have such great faith in Him.
5 months after our miscarriage, I am still hurting, and I can't help but wonder if the pain will ever go away. It must, right? I read blogs by women who have lost babies before, and their hurt seems to have been greatly diminished. I wonder, though, if that's because they have children to hold and raise after the fact. What if I never get that? What if I never have a child to call my own? Will this pain just sit in my chest throbbing for my whole life? I hope I never have to find out.
Having a baby just seems like the easiest thing in the world to do, and here I am, totally unable (so far) to accomplish this task. People who are totally unable and unfit to be parents do it all the time. Why can't I? Just doesn't seem right...but maybe that's a little self-righteous of me. I'm not perfect...just a little desperate I suppose.
So that's where I am. Yesterday at this time I was having a great weekend. We entertained (twice!) this weekend, the house was clean, I was cooking. It was great! Then last night as we laid down to go to sleep, it hit me like a ton of bricks. This grief just shows up out of nowhere, and smacks me down. And with one fell swoop, a great weekend ends with sobbing in bed, wrapped up in Matt's arms as he tries to console me. It's a big job, being married to me, and he's pretty great at it. I am so thankful for him.
I want to update you on things in my life though. Like my job, the new business my family and I are trying to get off the ground, etc. This just doesn't seem like the post for it though. I'll check back in soon...