There are times where I kind of pause and realize, “hey! I am doing ok today!” Usually it is after going several hours or maybe even a day without thinking about the zombryo or tartan pregnancies. I am good when it is not in the front of my mind.
Things get hard when I am doing ok and then remember. There is a weird sort of hang nail pain about remembering. I was oddly cranky this weekend – just feeling snarky and disconnected and every small thing irritated me. It later hit me. Oh. Right. If the zombryo wasn’t, well, a zombryo, I would be giving birth this month.
That is weird. When I remember that I then start to muse on all of the things from 2012 that would have been different in order to prepare. To plan. To welcome.
When I hear news about celebrity pregnancies or royal pregnancies I feel peculiar. I feel like I forgot my keys.
When I was in New York I had an acting teacher that had lost a leg to complications from diabetes. One day he paused in the middle of a lecture and got this pained and disjointed look on his face. He went to a far off place, for just a moment, and then his eyes were in the present. But they were sad. He took a breath and then explained that his leg itched. His leg that was no longer a part of him. It itched. He felt the sensation and he had to squelch the impulsive movement to reach down and scratch.
They call this phantom pain.
How fitting that the zombryo haunts me with phantom feelings. That’s the only way I can describe the emotional tug of missing. I am missing something that was once a part of me. Two somethings. They are both gone. To continue a prolonged sadness is not progressive. And what is the point to just be this hovercraft of sorrow not really landing in the real world. The world in which I am no longer pregnant, but also the world where I AM a Mother.
Lately some of the hardest moments are the ones in which W pines for a buddy. Of course in my mind I make the leap that, “oh if only he had a sibling he would have a buddy!” This is, of course, absurd because a sibling certainly does not equal a friendship. So really his buddy longing is just me attaching my own story to his declarations. Of COURSE he wants a buddy to play blocks with, who wouldn’t!? But my reaction to him is just proof that I have misplaced sorrow just wafting about.
Time, time, time. Yes. I know this depression in spurts will only truly be easier with time. I do wonder if I will only truly be able to let go and move on after the due dates have passed.