Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Things That Go Bump in My Head

I am afraid of October.

Not always, not every year. Just this year.

I am not afraid of witches.
I am not afraid of haunted houses.
I am not afraid of the dark.
I am not afraid of spiders (although I don't really prefer them, either).
I am not afraid of ghosts.

I am, this year, afraid of Halloween. Because Halloween is only days, less than a week before the doctors talk about amnio.centesis, of induction.

I am afraid he won't make it until then.
I am afraid of 35 weeks and 3 days.
I am afraid of 35 weeks and 4 days.
I am afraid of living the rest of my life like this.
I am afraid of living the rest of my life without my baby.
I am afraid of living the rest of my life without two babies.

A life ruled by fear is shit, let me tell you. Despite all the other good things that happen, that I have, the pervasive, underlying fear is like an anchor, drowning me.

My quiet joy it sitting alone, feeling this baby move. I could do it for days, weeks without end. As long as it doesn't end.

I am afraid of feeling that feeling again; the quiet stillness inside my body.
I am afraid he'll stop kicking.

I'm afraid of saying anything out loud.
I'm afraid my worst fears will come true.

8 comments:

  1. Mary Beth, this is an extremely moving and beautifully written post. I ache for you.

    Racheal

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  2. Hang in there - you are getting so close. I can't imagine NOT being terribly afraid in these circumstances and I dearly wish I could tell you everything will be alright. All I can say is that I will virtually hold your hand, and hold my breath, while you wait.

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  3. Oh Mary Beth. This brought back such vivid memories for me. It is hard to put in to words how utterly terrifying the end of a pregnancy after loss is, but you have done it perfectly here.
    Nothing I can really say to make this better, but keep rejoicing in those quiet moments with the kicks. Anyone who has had a baby go from kicking to still knows just how precious those moments are.
    He's coming.
    xo

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  4. I am so sorry, I know there is nothing to make this easier. Thinking of you and imagining the moment they pull him from your body and put him in your arms - crying and kicking.

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  5. I too have such a blog, it begin two months ago at the death of my daughter; it helps during the daylight hours, but when all is quiet during the night, we "think". All my heart goes out to you, I hope all mothers who have had such a loss will help carry your heavy load through their own hearts.

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  6. I think of you each day. Day.by.day. All the "hang in there" speech in the world, won't help the circuit of worry that you are trying to control, I know. But...day.by.day. Am thinking of you.

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  7. I hated those feelings too. But I figured bad luck had already given me the finger, so I gave it right back and swept bad mojo and feng shui to the wind: I just up and said "the baby could die." At least I knew I wouldn't be surprised.

    Hang tough. It's just an endless waiting game now. Sometimes I feel like I'm still exhaling.

    (P.S. I would've emailed you re: the comment on my blog, but I can't find your email? Anyway, . . . . You're Good.)

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  8. i cannot imagine the fear, i am so sorry for your loss of calla.

    your posts are a reminder to cherish life; thank you.

    love and kindness for your family,

    andrea

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