Monday, December 19, 2011
Santa
We took G to see Santa today, and do the cookie decorating ornament making they have around town. I close my eyes before we leave and try to let the fact that I am utterly grateful to have G to take to these things win out the sadness that I do not have my sons. Tears escape anyway, as I mourn what cannot be.
We know the family of four in line in front of us, their daughter and son are about 6 months older then what G and T are and would be. I remember when she told us she was pregnant the second time. I ache.
We meet a couple on the street, J did some work for them late in the summer and they know I was pregnant, I spend the entire time I stand in front of them repeating the words don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask in my head with a strained smile on my face. Yay for my 2 year old providing the perfect escape of being able to see the park from where we stood.
I’m exhausted. I can only hope it’s not always like this, a war between the happiness of what I have over the sadness of missing what I ‘should’ have. I worry that I’m tainting G’s toddler hood with my inability to be blissfully uncomplicatedly happy, and it is how this will affect her that causes me to hesitate when wondering if we should try again. My wounded heart yells yes immediately, yes, try until we get to bring home a baby. But my analytical brain hears G say; Mama sad? Aww poor mama. And doesn’t know what to do.
I wanted them to be close in age. To have each other as playmates, it’s awfully lonely up here. I worry that the longer it takes the greater risk something might happen forcing me to have to work when all I want is to stay home until they’re in school. I’m terrified it might not be an issue should another one never come to be.
Awfully early to be thinking such things anyway, always trying to look ahead, put off what I’m feeling today in the hopes that tomorrow will bring happier times.
She did fantastic. Sat there, not crying, not smiling, her big eyes even more round and huge then normal, waiting patiently. My sweet girl.
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the fact that you're worrying about tainting G's toddler experience is practically pure proof that you are doing everything you can to avoid that.
ReplyDeletei've been following, mostly silent, because i haven't known what, if anything, i could say. blissfully, uncomplicatedly happy almost only ever happens in small increments, sweetheart. you'll find that again, you'll cherish it as much as you always have and probably more, and then life will bubble up and take some of that bliss off your hands.
i think you are handling this beautifully by allowing it to wash over you without taking control of you.
*sigh* I wish I had some magical answer for you. I really do. All I can say is that people who are uncomplicatedly happy are few and far between. What you're doing for G despite your pain will stay with her forever. You are there for her, you're not delegating difficult situations to her grandparents. G will understand and appreciate that some day, and she will always know how much you love her and how lucky she is to have you for a mother (even during those adolescent years when it will seem like she forgets). Most people don't ever remember a thing before age four, and even the next year or two are spotty. Her overall feeling of being loved will shape her far more than your sadness, because it is much, much larger than anything else in her life. Maybe you'll feel up to calling that number today?
ReplyDeleteI'm sure I won't be alone to tell you that all of us carry something that prevents us from being just uncomplicatedly happy for our kids. Some more than others, of course, but the reality is that life happens. Your child is getting the experience of seeing a person move through grief. It may not be the lesson you wanted for her, but it's a valuable one nonetheless.
ReplyDeleteI hope you're doing okay. I think about you often and hope that you find a little space for joy and hope this season. You're in my thoughts.
xoxo
Lisa