I’ve been having a string of bad days. It’s not every day, and it’s not all day, but when it hits, it’s hard. I think maybe the cooling weather and approaching holidays are getting to me.
I went for a massage this afternoon, which was mostly great. When the massage therapist asked what was going on, I mentioned that lifting my 9-month old out of his crib is destroying my back. Once the massage started, he asked if Ian is my first. I said no without any explaining, and he asked if it’s easier this time around. Heh. If you really want to get into it, it’s easier in some ways but harder in others, but I spared him that uncomfortable conversation. I said that our first baby, our daughter, passed away, so in a way, it’s easier. He expressed his condolences, and that was that. I was fine. I even smiled after I answered, because I got to tell someone about my little girl.
A little bit later, I was thinking about how I like massages to hurt. I feel like they’re not all that productive otherwise. I thought about my last relaxation massage, and how it was nice and relaxing, but not my style. It was at a spa in Maine. Dave and I went away for our first anniversary. I was pregnant with Jilly.
My mood changed. I started thinking about how we tried having sex (sorry, parents and siblings), but it was uncomfortable. Something felt wrong. I was worried for a minute, but then I brushed it off as a normal pregnancy thing. I asked some internet friends about it a few days later, and one answer that sticks out in my mind is that one woman experienced it, but not at 21 weeks or however far along I was.
In hindsight: I should have called. Why didn’t I call? I know that there’s a very could chance that I would have been told that it’s normal for things to feel different during pregnancy. But there’s also a chance that I could have been told to come in just to be checked, and they could have discovered that my cervix was a worthless piece of crap and fixed things. I wouldn’t have this blog, this hole in my heart, or these horrible thoughts that I’m going to lose Ian, too.
And then hit me. If I had called, I might not have Ian.
I started thinking that maybe things are the way they should be, and I wasn’t supposed to call. The short time we had with Jillian was all that we were allotted, and things are the way they’re supposed to be. Then the feeling that I’d just chosen one child over another ripped my heart in half.
This whole thing has played out in my head a thousand times since Ian was born. Every time, I realize I can’t win. There’s no good outcome in this dilemma. Ideally, I’d have both kids, and I would be whole, but that’s not how it happened. I know I’m not choosing one kid over another, but while my thoughts are spiraling out of control, it feels like I am.
I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do about it. I think it’s just something I have to get used to. If it weren’t for Ian, I think I’d want to sleep until the spring. It’s amazes me that almost two years later, I still get so overwhelmed that I can’t stand it.