Okay, last night--again--Mike shook me awake. I was sobbing in my sleep over another scary nightmare. In this horrible dream, a weird hybrid of my husband and brother was playing with Liv--but a little too rough. He was shaking her, really hard, and I was begging him to stop. She eventually stopped laughing, and I sobbed while he yelled at both of us. I couldn't move to save her--I couldn't do anything.
I'm losing it.
Today I had my regular injection of Progesterone, and figured I should mention the nightmares to my nurse, just in case she had any suggestion. Ever the supporter, she mentioned that if this keeps going on long-term, we'll talk to the doctor about my options. There might be risks, but insanity is pretty risky, too. But that's a far-off discussion.
Anyway, as I was talking to her, I felt myself start to slip. I realize that right here, right now, 16 weeks is where I lose it. I have lost my grip on the numbness that kept me safe for so long. I have lost the shield that keeps me from reliving my son's short life in this pregnancy. I have lost the protective distance I kept between myself and this little life inside me.
It's over. I've lost it.
So what now? Well, apparently when those walls come down, my first inclination is to hide, hide, hide. I've barely left my house in two days. I have three emails waiting for a response in my inbox--which are kind of important. And what, you might ask, am I doing in my little cave?
I don't know.
Worrying? Staring at my newly-discovered bump? Panicking? Yeah, panicking seems fair. Today I called Mike freaking out about the baby names we've chosen because up until this week, I've honestly not given them a second thought. As if deep down, I wasn't sure we had any use for names. But suddenly we're creeping up on the anatomy scan.
And this is all just a little too real.
You see, with your first pregnancy, no one tells you anything except pregnancy is sunshine and puppies and maybe a little morning sickness. Your hair and nails will benefit from the prenatal vitamins. You'll have a glow.
Your first loss tells you that while this might be true, it couldn't be less important. You realize just a minute too late that every day of pregnancy is a delicate gift that you must take the time to be grateful for. You lament not cherishing every kick, every surge of heartburn.
Your first pregnancy after loss, you've lost the naivety. You know full well you should celebrate every single moment and kick and trip to the doctor for your millionth shot. But some of us are just a little too scared. Some of us are scared to death.
Yes, I know this sounds an awful lot like yesterday's post, but until today, I hadn't taken the time to say out loud to another person exactly how I was feeling. And today, when I spoke up...
I lost it.