Beach Walk

I’m reading a book about creativity in motherhood. The author’s diligence and tenacity towards her writing craft makes me think about all the times I could sit down and write but don’t. The book makes me want to take my writing more seriously, make it a priority again. I think about adding it back in, maybe just a little.

I make grand plans and set my alarm for 5:00 A.M. I’ll get up before the kids get up and write for an hour. When the alarm goes off, I snooze it for ten minutes. When it goes off again, I stumble downstairs, pour myself a cup of coffee, and stare at my computer screen. I write one sentence. Then I shut my computer and go back to bed until 6:15 when my kids get up.

Soooo that didn’t work. Soooo I’m not a morning person. Soooo I’m not going to try that again.

But I still feel like I’m supposed to be writing more, so I decide to try writing during nap times. In small margins of borrowed time. That sort of works. Sort of will have to do.

I need an outlet to distract me right now. I’m living in another in-between time: no longer pregnant after two miscarriages but hoping to be pregnant again. It’s a stage of grief and moving on and hope and I don’t know what. Maybe writing again will bring healing? Maybe writing again will just give me something else to think about? I’m simultaneously trying to raise two little boys, thoroughly caught up in the throes of young motherhood, desperately needing this outlet.

Staying Present

“I don’t have to poop!!!!!!!!” 

I’m sitting on the bathroom floor next to where my two year old is screaming at the top of his lungs on the toilet. We’ve been at this for twenty minutes. 

“It’s time to poop, George. Put the poop in the potty.”

I know the kid has to go. He knows he has to go. He just won’t. We’ve been potty training for about two months and it’s been going well. George got the hang of it remarkably fast. Until we had a bit of a regression. Now he’s afraid to go number 2 and it’s a whole thing. 

April Reflection

I’m sitting on the couch during nap time, curled up next to my sleeping dog. The laundry is folded and put away, the ironing finished, so I can relax a bit before the boys wake up. It’s quiet. Yesterday I was in short sleeves, and today it is snowing, so I’ve been texting with Rob about how much we hate the weather. It’s been a good day today—the boys have been happy and content—but my mind feels a bit unsettled of late.

A few days ago, I went for my post-op appointment. The miscarriage itself was very drawn out, dragging on for about three weeks. It was emotionally and physically grueling, but it is at long last behind us. The post-op appointment, two weeks after the D&C, felt like the “last thing” of the miscarriage that I needed to do before I could fully feel able to move on, move forward. Anyway, at the appointment, I learned that the genetic testing we’d opted for after the D&C showed that Finley had a genetic abnormality.

In Memory

It’s not fair that I still have morning sickness after my baby has died. It’s not fair. Here I am, throwing up multiple times throughout the day and feeling queasy and seasick—my morning sickness getting worse instead of better. My body is feeling as pregnant as ever, but I know there is no heartbeat.

None of this is fair.

Snuggle Bunny

On our way home from the restaurant, Rob and I stop in at Target to pick up some prescriptions I need. After picking them up, I pull on Rob’s sleeve and nudge him over to the baby section. I run my fingers over the onesies, some socks, a little sweater.

Then I see it. It’s a little outfit, a soft green waffle-knit sweater paired with green and white striped pants. On the sweater it says, “Snuggle Bunny”.  It could work for a boy or a girl. I pick up the 0-3 month size.

I haven’t let myself dream yet. I haven’t let myself go there.