I've been in a bit of a funk all weekend. Unsurprisingly, my travel company is refusing to refund any of the money paid for the vacation we were unable to take. My husband is out of town for work for several weeks. I've had a headache for days that I'm sure isn't helping.
And sometimes, my mind just wanders. What worries me is that at least the last few days, it seems to keep wandering into the wrong part of town. The dark alleys that are better explored onLy during the day and never alone.
I keep wondering what a loss would mean now. could I survive? Would I? At 14 weeks would it be harder than 12? What about 15, or 20? At what point, if any, would the cruel of the world count it a loss. At what age exactly would it be socially acceptable for me to name and mourn this baby? These thoughts scare me. They fill up space that should be filled with excitement and anticipation. They also reveal my deeper feelings of sadness, devastation and anger at being judged and misunderstood. I know that something can go wrong at any point in a pregnancy or a life. I know that fear and worry is even a normal part of motherhood, but these thoughts seems far from normal to me.
These are hard thoughts to write, hard things to share and I hestitate to publish them. I can't bare to actually acknowledge what a loss would mean. There is no accounting for such a thing. My husband, trying to calm my anger with the travel company asked me wouldn't I pay that and more to guarantee a healthy baby. That ridiculous, of course. I'd pay everything I'd have to guarantee such a thing, but no such guarantee exists. Nothing can ensure that I can kiss this baby.
I'm sorry to be such a downer, but thank you for letting me share.