Dave and I had our 24 wk growth ultrasound on Friday. Twenty minutes before the appointment was to start, I was convinced our baby boy was gone, or at least dying. He hadn't moved much that morning, and I was convinced I would show up for the appointment with eager anticipation, only to have the ultrasound tech tell me there was no heartbeat.
The ultrasound went great.
Trauma and PTSD are powerful grips on the heart.
I am in a strange place.
Today I received some fabric samples for my baby boy's crib bedding. I was convinced for a long time I wasn't going to set up his nursery until he was here. After some thought and reflection, I think it will be really good for me to focus on this in preparation for his arrival. I am hoping to keep the fear and panic at bay so that I can do that for him.
Today I also bought some cupcake cups and decorations (owls, of course) for Georgiana's first birthday in heaven. God, it pains to me even type those words. Today is one of those barely breathe kind of days, where the sheer sorrow of her death is enough to overwhelm me completely.
I came home and set the cupcake decorations next to the fabric samples on the kitchen table. I wasn't even thinking about it, as I was tidying up, coming home, and cleaning the kitchen. When I was finished, I looked over at the table and realized the two items were sitting right next to each other. And it was too much.
Her birthday: I don't even know how I feel on this. I have received a couple of disappointing responses to this from close family members, and have tried to let the anger and disappointment go on that. It's much easier said than done. I feel torn. I want to celebrate, and I also want to crawl into a hole and maybe never come out. March looms, and there's nothing I can do about it other than admit myself to the crazy ward and beg for medication until April. I'll get an idea for her party, and then I think, no, that will make me too sad. Or, no, that will make someone else too sad. This is so hard to do. Life is so hard right now. How can I have so many years left without her?
My son, his nursery: He doesn't feel real in a lot of ways, although I know he's real because I feel him move. I have dozens of pictures of his face, more in fact than I have of my daughter at this point. I thank God for his little nudges, and then I go into near panic attacks when he goes to sleep and doesn't move for awhile. Three months left, and...I don't know. Women have done this before me, so I'll do it too. I need to go into the nursery and separate out what he can wear that I had for her, and then figure out where to put the rest of her things. Or the rest of the baby girl things. Whatever they are at this point. It's too much right now, so the door stays shut.
Parallel plans, and my heart feels torn not just in two directions, but in a dozen different directions. I am taken back to the last day I saw her coffin above ground, and I wonder how I have survived. When the heart smashes and breaks and never goes back to what it was, how does the body survive? How is it that we survive this?