For a moment I forgot. It didn't even last a second, but I had this moment of joy thinking about how much my baby bump had grown since before break. I felt so stupid after. And pissed at that idiot part of me who is in complete denial. Who forgets that she isn't pregnant anymore?
My world is a shattered pile on the ground, but life goes on.
"Finger of birth-strangled babe"--this line from Macbeth has played over and over in my mind since Tuesday when we read it in class minutes after I told them that our baby died and was born last week. I can't shut it off, and I can't erase the images that come with the phrase.
I cannot read a book right now. I don't want to read a book. I don't care about books.
I can't have our baby back no matter how many times I ask.
I, I, I, I, me, me, me. Greif is self-centered and whiny. I can't get out of my own head. I suck as a friend right now.
I had a baby last week, but my old clothes fit me.
I am so blessed, but I don't want to talk about that right now.
Instead of ordering baby items, I'm tracking a package for a cremation necklace.
My body hurts from holding myself together all day.
Instead of being excited about hearing our baby's heartbeat at my next appointment, I'm waiting to get our baby's ashes and the results of the autopsy.
I still have moments where I think that I will wake up from this nightmare.