Six weeks later

It has been 6 weeks since the termination. I am impatiently waiting for my period to come back. I sure it’s arrival will be bittersweet. I haven’t had my period since December…and with it’s arrival will come the final part of ending the pregnancy. On the other hand, with the period comes the possibility of becoming pregnant again…

We moved last weekend. We moved from a studio apartment to a three story town house.The change is nice and comes at  good time. Its been  welcomed distraction. Through the move, the stress and not sleeping enough, I have found myself with a terrible cold.  I kept myself home from work today. Although I feel terrible, I am trying to be as productive  possible around the house.

Constant struggle: seeing pregnant woman…  I have a few friends that are pregnant and I am running out of excuses… when I see random pregnant woman walking down the street I try to think to myself; ‘I have no idea what measures this woman had to go through to get pregnant.  For all I know, this baby could have come after recurring losses.Or maybe I am just assuming the baby bump is the home to a healthy baby… I find comfort in imagining that there road to pregnancy was tough…even though I know that is probably the unlikely scenario. Maybe in a year from now the sight of pregnancy won’t make me cringe and silently curse..maybe in a year from now I’ll have a proud bump of my own…

should be, would be, will be? 

I keep thinking about future dates in terms of how pregnant I would be. Every time I schedule an event, meeting, or dinner, my mind immediately calculates how pregnant I should be. I have already tried to calculate when my cycle will return…. So I can then calculate when I’ll be ovulating… So I can then calculate when I’ll be pregnant again. The one thing I should of learned from all of this is: you can’t plan anything. For some reason, I am still trying to plan and calculate… 

This past Sunday I was walking with my mom and the discussion of Mother’s Day was brought up. In hindsight, I should of remained quiet, but against my better judgement I turned to her and confessed that the upcoming holiday was going to be difficult for me. In response, true to form, she told me that I was never a mother and that I was being ridiculous. My mother is not a bitch, but sometimes, she doesn’t think before she speaks. She isn’t emotional and for her, she doesn’t understand the hurt I feel. Instead of indulging her, I choked back tears and remained quiet. Ironically- this conversation was taking place on Bereaved Mother’s Day.  A holiday I hadn’t known existed before that morning. I understand I am not a mother in the traditional sense: having living children, but for all intents and purposes, I am, I was a mother, even if it was only for 15 weeks.