There are moments when I feel almost normal. Sitting with friends. Watching TV with Mike. Running errands. For a few blissful moments, I am just a regular person doing what regular people do. But then, my stomach twinges in a sore spot, or a family walks by with a stroller, or I think about the fact that the last time I was in this particular location, I had to turn to the side because my stomach was in the way. Then, everything comes rushing back in a waterfall of memories, washing away everything else, leaving me soaked with sadness. I touch my belly, my empty and sore belly, and I remember. I remember why I am not normal. Why nothing is normal. I remember what I had and what I have lost. I remember what I wish I could forget.
I am in a strange limbo right now. You see, I should still be pregnant. Kenley was due on March 25. I should still have about two weeks left. She should still be inside, twisting and twirling like the graceful ninja she was. I should still be waddling around, peeing every 5 minutes, complaining about my heartburn. My ankles should still be swollen. My heart should still be whole. I should not be here, exhausted and empty.
I was robbed! My time was stolen from me. Time to hold her just a little bit more, to feel her nestled inside, to keep her safe. Oh! I couldn't keep her safe! I couldn't protect her from what happened. My little girl lived in me - and died in me. She never knew anything else but the darkness of my belly. She never knew my face, or my touch. She never knew the warmth of the sun or the softness of a breeze. I know it's not true - but I feel like I've failed her. The logical side of me argues there was nothing I could have done. There was no way I could have known. But the other half of me crumbles in shame. She was my baby and I couldn't do anything to save her. Why couldn't I save her? I am her mother. That is my job!
I miss her so much. She was a part of me for so long, I don't really know what to do with this emptiness. Most women just trade the baby on the inside for the baby on the outside. They may miss the kicks and twists inside them - but they have something else to focus on, taking care of their child, the source of those kicks and twists. What do I have? I have a c-section scar and an empty crib. This is my new normal.
My moments of normalcy come and go, as do my moments of sorrow, and of guilt, and of rage. I am a whirlwind of emotions. Always spinning, always shifting. On a good day, I only cry a handful of times. On a bad day, my cheeks never have a chance to dry.