I'm not really speechless, just at a loss for words that can describe my emotions of the past few weeks. I've started a hundred posts in my head recently, that I just don't have to heart to actually write. I realize how dark they all sound. How easily my terror slips through the words.
I am now just past the point of where I lost M. It doesn't make me feel better, just slightly less assaulted by memories. In some ways, I could call it worse. Now, I am even closer to that elusive ribbon, the finish line, where on the other side is a living baby. I want to cross that, but I can't picture it.
I have the most morbid thoughts. I am almost ashamed to admit them. I start to plan, in my head, some coping techniques, you know, *just in case*. The part that scares me is, I don't know how I would survive. Of course, if you had asked me before M, could I survive my baby dying and giving birth to him, I probably would have answered no. I guess part of what scares me is the urge to let myself get sucked into a deep dark hole and just disappear would be very strong. It was strong when M died, but honestly, Mr. g and to a somewhat lesser extent, my family, kept me from doing it. I had to *cope* in one way or the other, because I felt a responsibility not to add to their grief and worry. And while others may disagree with me, I don't see that as a bad thing. Whatever gets you out of bed in the morning, you know. But if it were to happen a second time, ahhh, well, I'm not sure that would be enough. I once read an article on grief and the author claimed one of the top worries was, "Will I survive?" And as somewhat selfish and narcissistic as that sounds, I found that to be true. I experienced many a moments where I wasn't quite sure I would come out the other side. Frankly, I am not sure I have. Everyday could bring something new.
See? I start to write my dark feelings, and re-reading it scares me. I'm living with them everyday, but seeing them written down, in public no less, frightens me. Then mother guilt kicks in, and I feel the need to apologize to baby girl for essentially planning her death. But it is all I know.
Yesterday, at the doctor's, one of the nurses started talking to me about preparing for breastfeeding. She's right, it would be better if I learned more about it in advance. Scares me though, everything scares me. I started reading breastfeeding books with M before I even got out of the first trimester, if you can believe that. Hopefully, some of that stuff has stuck with me, just in case I can't make myself do it.
I try to be forgiving with myself, give myself permission to feel what is, no matter how *crazy* it feels. I mean, so what I can't read about breastfeeding yet? So what I haven't bought a dang thing? That is what younger sisters are for, to run out and buy stuff while you are in the hospital. I need to remind myself that none of that means I am not bonding with baby girl. I'm bonded, she just doesn't own stuff. I try to make a joke of it, saying I am trying for the record of *Most unprepared mother ever*. I'll probably fall right after those woman who *suddenly* give birth in restroom, claiming they never knew they were pregnant.