Mike and I have been trying to get pregnant again since July. So far, we have had no luck. I feel like my life is broken into two week increments: the two weeks after ovulation, where I live in hope and anticipation, and the two weeks after my period, where I live in disappointment and frustration. A constant upswing and downswing. I am trying to be hopeful and to not stress.
That's what everyone says to a woman trying to have a baby. "Don't Stress. Just let it happen." "It will happen when you least expect it." Holy, crap, shut up! Telling me not to stress is like throwing me into the deep end of a swimming pool and telling me not to get wet. I'm already here. I'm already soaked to the bone, treading water like mad, and you're standing on the bricks in an evening gown, sipping a glass of chardonnay. Someone saying those things clearly has no idea what it's like to be in this situation, and I know people are just trying to help, but stop. Just let me stress. Let me talk about my frustrations and my fears. Don't tell me "It will happen when it's the right time." It was the right time in June 2012. It was the right time all the way up to February 25, 2013, when it was no longer the right time...and it was just too late. And please, under any circumstances, don't tell me "Three months isn't that long." Three months is an eternity when you are trying after loss. For three months, I have been trying to do something I shouldn't have to even be doing at all. I should be watching my six month old bounce around on the floor, not trying to have another baby. Each attempt and each failure is yet one more reminder of what I've lost - and what I still don't have. I shouldn't be here.
But I am. I am because I owe it to my daughter to carry on with the life I want and the life I deserve. More than anything in the world, I want to be the mother of Kenley's little brother or sister. I want to have a live, healthy baby in my arms whom I can love here on Earth. A baby I can watch grow. A baby who will have all the firsts their big sister never would. A baby who would learn all about the life that came before them. Kenley made me a mother - and she is also making me into the mother I will be for her siblings. As much as it pains me to admit it, I will be a better mother because of her.
A month ago, I stopped the blog because I felt I was caught in a spiral of grief - and I was. I needed to take time away from repeatedly breaking and re-enter my life as best as I could. School started, and I got back on that horse as best as I could. This entry is not necessarily a restart of the blog because I can't guarantee I will continue with the regularity I once did. But, I need to sort some things out, and that's why this blog exists. This is a part of my journey. Grief does not end, but it does change. It shifts and molds itself into your life, and you carry it with you.
One of my friends told me this saying in Italian, "Vivere Nella Speranza", which translates to "Live in Hope." This is what I try to do each and every day. Hope that life will turn around. Hope that my broken heart will continue to heal. Hope that I will get through the day without crying in front of too many people. Hope that my finances will improve, and that my days may begin to get a little easier. Hope that my body will remember how to carry a child. Hope that the universe will see fit to deliver her soundly. Hope. And, as I shift my focus from full time grief to hope in trying again, not one second goes by where I do not think of my little girl. Not one moment passes where I function without her influence. She will always have her tiny, chubby fingers wrapped around my heart, and she will always steer me through this fragmented life.
That's all for now, friends. See you around, until then...
