Saturday, December 12, 2009

Morning Wake-Up Call

After a week, Scott still reaches over when he's just waking up to rub my belly. You can tell he's still surprised when he realizes there's nothing there, and he moves his hand to my breast or arm, trying to pretend he wasn't saying good morning to our dead baby. I can't bring myself to tell him to stop, it's also my own little morning reminder - you're no longer pregnant, now put on a brave face, get up and face the day.

I can't watch TV anymore. I never realized how often babies and pregnant women are featured in commercials. If I try to watch TV to zone out for a while, an image of a preggo or a baby snaps me right back into myself, where I actually have to think about what happened and try not to cry about it. Reading's marginally better, but I can't read any new books - what if there's a baby in the book? I've been re-reading all the books I know for sure don't have any mention of the things I'm cowardly avoiding. I get bored with re-reading, so I try to work more on painting the house (we're on second coat of primer), but my leg still hurts from surgery, and every time I have to step up onto a chair to paint near the ceiling it twinges, and my mind goes right to the reason.

This is impossible to avoid, when all I want to do is get on with my life, stop being such a wreck. I wish I could force myself not to think about it most of the time, and allow myself grieving time in the shower, where no one can hear me cry.

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