Life Before Loss

Let me preface this by saying I do not regret having my sons. But....

I miss my life before them. It's not about going out and acting my age or whatever. It's about missing being naive. And care free. I miss not having to explain to people that I have other sons, that this is not my first pregnancy but no, I do not have any kids at home. I miss having a job. I've been unemployed since starting bed rest with Xander on November 1st 2010. I miss meeting new people and not being afraid to do so. I miss not having to answer awkward questions. I miss not having to bite my tongue then feeling guilty when I do. I miss not having to wonder if I should even try explaining Xander to people. Do you realize how many people don't really understand what a stillbirth is? I miss my friends and when they used to treat me like a normal person. Not someone who gets easily offended or over sensitive. I miss not knowing the meaning of progesterone deficiency and blood clotting issues and what Lovenox and baby aspirin are and how they can help a baby survive pregnancy. I miss not knowing the stillbirth, miscarriage and infant loss statistics. I miss thinking that losses most commonly occur in the first trimester and thinking that anything after was completely rare. I miss thinking that a pregnancy ended at 40 weeks. I miss not having 24 weeks as a goal, because that's when a baby is at the "viability" stage and doctors will try to help the baby to survive outside of the womb. I miss not knowing what a NICU is and what it stands for. I miss not anticipating NICU bills. I miss my old life.

Part of me did die on January 13th 2011 with Xander. My innocence. My patience and tolerance. I feel like everyone should know what I know. But that's not realistic and NO ONE should know what I know....because I know the truth. I know it isn't rare. I know it can happen to anyone. I know that just because someone experienced the same thing as me that doesn't mean I will have the same outcome. I know not all things resolve on their own. I know that they can grow and take a life. I know that labor can start at any moment and mother's won't feel it happening.

I hate knowing what I know. I hate living in fear. I hate seeing the negative side of things and never believing anything positive will happen. Why should it?

Restless

I can't sleep anymore. I wake up every 20 minutes and I can tell it's affecting Rob's sleep too. My Ambien doesn't even keep me dreaming. Maybe it's because I am not having dreams I am having nightmares. Everyone (in my "dreams") just tells me how it's my fault he's gone. It's like in a movie...where someone is standing in the middle of a circle full of people and the room is spinning and they are all shouting negative things about the person in the center.

I feel like all of my relationships are ruined. No one talks to me anymore unless I am the one to start the conversation. And forget bringing up the fact we lost Xander. It's just like I can see the expression on their face as soon as I say "ever since we lost Xander...." or anything similar, their face goes from smile to frown. Like, is this girl still talking about that? Yes. Yes I am and I always will. Just because you can block it out doesn't mean I can. And honestly I never want to forget Xander because that would be dishonoring my own son. Would you dishonor your child's life? Living or not? And why frown when I bring him up. It is obviously beyond sad what happened but I don't want my son to see his Mommy sad when she talks about him. I can be happy when I talk about him and I hope you can be too. He was amazing. He had a personality. He was stubborn for one thing. At every ultrasound he would squirm and kick and give the tech a hard time. And I know he was caring. Anytime I would worry about him, he would give me a nice big kick in the stomach to remind me that was still there...alive and kicking. He also loved his Dad. Anytime Rob would set his hand on my perfectly round pregnant belly, and say "Xander", he would respond by kicking at Rob's hand.

He was and still is and always will be...my pride and joy.  And no matter how much I feel like my body failed it didn't in a way...because even though we lost him, my body still made him. And at least I can say that.