Have I mentioned the physical aftermath of losing a baby is a beast? No one prepared me for that, for the physical reminders of being babyless.
I was lucky to gain so little (10 pounds) and then lose it all within days of delivering Amelia, but I’ve still got angry red stretch marks. My stomach is still my-uterus-hasn’t-quite-shrunk-completely loose and flabby, like I’m hiding dozens of extra cookies down there. And yet no stranger will ever look at me with forgiving eyes, saying, “She still looks great for just having had a baby“. I’ll tell ya, it sucks.
And over two weeks later my boobs kept relentlessly producing milk as if I had a baby to feed. Don’t they know I buried her tiny body in the ground?!
My bleeding finally stopped just short of a week ago. So last Monday (two weeks post-delivery), with Jack in his footsie pajamas in the stroller, I ran a mile-and-a-half. And then I began to bleed again, another haunting reminder that yes indeed, I’m not quite physically healed.
But no one knows that but me. And I’ll tell ya, it sucks.
But I’ve been getting by.
And it’s that and nothing more; just barely getting by.
Some days I cry more than other days. Some days I just want to be alone, and some days I want to be surrounded by friends.
Some days I just want to eat, and some days I eat hardly anything. Some days I’m up for playing games with Jack on the ground, and some days I resort to turning on a movie for the two of us. Some days I just fall asleep on the couch altogether and hope for the best.
Sometimes, when Jack is asleep and the house is silent, I look at pictures of her. Tears roll down my cheeks, soaking my shirt, until I remember there’s a box of tissues behind the computer monitor. But the tissues, even the ultra-soft ones, don’t really soothe my soul.
I’m scared I’m beginning to forget. It’s been three weeks and it’s hard to truly remember the feel of her tiny body pressed against mine, or how her head rested perfectly in the palm of my hand. I cry because I know we’ll have more babies, but we won’t have another Amelia. And right now, all I want is Amelia.
I love the pic of Amelia holding your necklace. If you look at your necklace like mother-and-child hearts, I love that she is holding tight to yours.
And, by the way, every time I see you, you look amazing.
It’s funny you mention that. That’s exactly what mom’s intention was when she bought me that necklace, for it to represent me and Amelia’s hearts being connected. :)
Oh Alie!!! I love you! I’m so sorry little Amelia had to be taken so quickly. I don’t know if you’re still having milk come in but if you take cold medication it’ll dry it right up if you want to. I think you guys often. We can’t wait to see you soon!!! Love you.
Funny story about taking cold medication to dry up my milk. I tried it and failed miserably. I’ll have to tell you when I see you. :)
I’m so glad that you are writing all of this down! Even if it is hard. At RS last night, someone taught a class about family and personal history. She had lost a child when he was about 4 years old, and, she said she regrets not taking the time to write every thing down while it was fresh. Because, as we all know, it’s so much harder to remember it later. These days are hard, but, trust me, these are precious memories and records you and your family will cherish forever!
I’m glad you shared that. Sometimes I think maybe I’m too open and I share too much, but on the other hand I’m glad I am able to write it down. It’s very healing to share it, and I’ve already been grateful to remember so much.
I never share with you because I don’t want to upset you on thegood days but I miss her too.I know we will see her again and that this is all part of God’s plan, but some days I feel selfish and just wish it didn’t have to be this way. Try to remember that Sunday afternoon and the cool things we shared and look towards the future. This earth is such a blink in the eternal calendar, It is going to be okay, just not right now. You are so amazing. Thank you for sharing with all of us. Love, Mom