I think all of this comes back to acceptance. The sooner I can accept that things are the way they are because they were MEANT to be that way, the sooner I can finish living my life. I KNOW that Tyler shouldn't be here and I was never meant to be 8 months pregnant right now, but the human in me is struggling. Badly. I'm pissed. I hate when other women, whom my grieving heart deems unworthy, get pregnant and have healthy babies. They don't deserve it, damnit. I did everything right. I married the love of my life, with the blessing of my family and friends. We did everything the way we thought was right. We worked hard to build a stable environment before bringing children into the world. We loved our little embryo long before we knew it was a "he" or what our future held. We faced every expectant parent's worst nightmare (even if they don't know it yet) and did what our hearts and our faith told us was "right". But our baby died. Then we were finally blessed with a healthy rainbow baby and it was still hell. I thought I enjoyed her as much as humanly possibly, but looking back, that's a lie. Even after she was born, it felt like a dream. Like she wasn't my baby. Like I was waiting for her real parents to come in and take her back. I joked about "waiting for her real parents" to my friends but it was scary. It felt like I was responsible for someone else's baby. It was stressful! As grateful and thankful as I am to have her here and healthy and alive, it hasn't been that fun. Every smile, every giggle, is tainted. Bittersweet. And I'm pissed that liars, cheaters, drug addicts and "bad" people get healthy children and don't appreciate them. I'm pissed that all the friends I've made through this have lost their babies, as well. 90% of them are good, hard-working, honest people. I'm pissed that what you see is NOT what you get. I am the most transparent person I know, at least I try to be. Anybody that has known me for 5 minutes can talk to someone who's known me for 15 years and be on the same page. But there is so much more now. Nobody can understand the path I've walked, unless they have, too. I know I've used this example a hundred times....but nobody can understand going to a funeral home to make plans for a baby that's kicking your insides while you discuss the wording of the obituary that will be in the paper. Holding your lifeless child on your chest all night long because it will be your only opportunity to do so. Feeling so broken that you have to talk yourself into getting up to go to the bathroom. Praying to God that you die in a car crash or some other freak accident. Maybe get hit by a car, walking across the street on your way to work. Seeing another person's baby, who was born around the same time as yours, grow up. And not yours. Hearing the excitement in another mom's voice when she talks about her child's upcoming birthday...which happens to be the same day as your baby's. In my case, hearing another mom talk about her child's birthday landing on Thanksgiving. BLM's understand this, even though it's completely irrational, but Thankgiving is TYLER'S holiday. Yep, it's his. He owns it. My nephew's birthday lands on that holiday this year and it literally made the hair stand up on the back of my neck when my sister-in-law told me that. I mean, of course I already looked ahead and knew it, but to actually hear someone say that their child's "birthday falls on Thanksgiving this year" bothered me! But she will never know. She didn't even flinch when she said it. There was no acknowledgment whatsoever. And why should there be? She wasn't there to meet Tyler. He isn't her child and Thanksgiving doesn't have any significance to her except to meet with family and eat turkey. I'm not saying she forgot about Tyler. I KNOW she didn't. But it will never mean as much to her as it does to me and, again, I completely acknowledge how irrational this is, but that is hard to accept. Losing Tyler rocked my world. It was like the world stopped and started spinning in the other direction. I venture to say it changed my life more than Keira's birth. Not that I'm comparing my children because they simply can't be compared. But it changed who I was, who I thought I was. I feel like who I am is now defined by grief. I'm a grieving mom to Keira, not just her mom. Again, this is why I'm pissed. It's not fair for me or her. Or Jim. Or our future children.
Ask me how I feel in a week and I'll be happy as a pig in fresh poop. I'll have this aura of acceptance surrounding me. *sigh* This is what grieving is. This is what it's like to lose your baby and have to keep living on. I'm blessed, I truly am. But I'm always hurting, too.