the grief that does not speaks whispers o'er the heart and bids it break

There is something about me that most people don't know. Now, before I make my big reveal, let me warn you that this will not be a happy post. In fact, it may even be considered depressing. If that is not what you are looking for, move on now.

Now, as for my big secret, here it is: due to complications after Lily was born, I have been told by several doctors that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for me to carry another baby to term.
Now, being the contrary person I am, I refused to accept this and set out to prove the cynics wrong.

A few weeks ago, however, I had yet another miscarriage. So not only have I had to mourn the loss of another baby I very much wanted, but I get to listen to a non-stop tirade of criticism from that annoying voice in my head. The one that tells me I am a failure as a woman. The one that looks at my reflection and tells me I am a fat slob. The one that reduces me to tears with its taunting every time I see a woman with a happy, healthy baby.

But that isn't all. Oh no.

I also get to deal with the water weight (and, I'll be honest, depressed overeating weight) that has made me look puffy and swollen for three weeks.  And (yes, AND) I get to be on this crazy emotional roller coaster that has turned me into a bipolar terror.  Poor Ernie and Lily never know which Jamie they're going to get from one moment to the next.

I want to be back to normal. I want to wallow in my grief forever. I want to be happy again. I want to give the world and all the people in it the bird. I want to take out my uterus and give it a hearty kick. Then spit on it for good measure. I want to remind myself to appreciate the little things that not a month ago gave me such pleasure.

I was talking to my Aunt the other day about all these feelings, and about how I couldn't shake them off of me (I am usually so good at pushing painful and conflicted emotions out of my way). She told me something profound. Well, profound to me, at any rate. What I'm going through is awful. I have every right to feel awful about it. Those painful and conflicted emotions aren't bad. In fact, they're necessary for me to heal. I need to own them and let myself feel mad/sad/pitiful about this horrible thing that is happening that I have no control over.

So here I am, allowing myself to feel it all. To cry and bleed and feel everything and know that it is okay.  The next step is getting proactive. About losing weight (AGAIN!), about having another child, if that is what we want. About letting myself grieve, but then allowing myself to be happy again.

And if you've gotten this far, thank you for allowing me to go through this process.

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