A warning: this post might be really weird, or totally TMI, or make a lot of sense to others in my sad little boat, or maybe all three of those things.
Today was my birthday, and when I woke up, I was really sad. I’m not sure why I would be sad about Amy specifically on my birthday, which obviously has nothing to do with her, but I was. Maybe it’s just how different I thought this year’s birthday would be. How I thought I’d be weeks away (maybe less!) from bringing home a daughter, a whole new person in the world, all ours. Or maybe it’s how the only thing I want, can’t really be gotten.
But then the day turned out not to be sad at all – or it was, but it was also a very nice day, and aside from the obvious, it was exactly what I wanted, which is low-key and relaxing but important to friends and family. And many very lovely friends from an online group I was very active in when I was pregnant, they all got together and made me a blanket, for me, and for Dan, and for Amy, and in one of those moments where the universe reaches out and says hey, maybe there’s a plan here, it arrived today, on my birthday, and with it were dozens of cards and hugs. It was a great end to the day.
And I got one more thing today (warning y’all, this is where it’s about to get TMI/gross/weird if you’re squeamish) – my period. I know that’s kind of weird to talk about on the internet, but to me it is a huge deal right now. For a lot of little reasons, one of which is it’s the second one after giving birth which takes me out of the pregnancy danger zone, but the biggest reason is because it is my body, doing what it is supposed to do.
When something like this happens, especially when the cause is pretty much narrowed down to either your cervix effed it up or your uterus effed it up but there was nothing – NOTHING – wrong with the baby or the pregnancy, mentally, you get into a bit of a fight with your body. Fight being maybe a mild term. I am angry with my stupid, stupid body, which failed miserably at its job and killed my poor baby girl. Harsh language, maybe, but that’s how it feels. My body has failed me, and my husband, and our child, and everyone who already loved her or would have.
So, when I get my period, and then I count the days, and I ovulate, right on schedule, and then I count the days, and my period comes again, right on schedule, I want to shout with joy. Hallelujah. My body is doing what it is supposed to do, instead of screwing everything up. My body is healing. Readying itself, just like my mind.
I don’t know, for most people, it would probably be kind of a shitty birthday present, but it makes me feel something almost like hope.