Ups and downs. But more ups now.

Dear Baby,

I told your Dad a few days ago that I didn't know if I was going to make it. I didn't mean it in the ominous music kind of way, but in the "I can't be a functioning human being" kind of way. I've been working really hard to hold it together lately, especially for him. I've been dumping a lot on your Dad, kiddo, and it's not fair. He's made it really easy to do so, and I forget that he's going through all of the things I'm going through. Granted, he doesn't have the added complications of the physical occurrences, and there is an argument to be made that the miscarriage didn't affect him in the same way, but there's still been sadness in the household in general. The bottom line is that your Dad deserves to have me fully present and emotionally available. He deserves a happier marriage than we are having right now. Well, I shouldn't say it that way. I should say he deserves a happier household than we have right now. Our marriage is the only thing getting me through this.

I'm starting actually be friends with a group of women, and I've discovered that I really missed having women friends. There's a big difference between acquaintances and friends, and I didn't realize there was a void until they stepped in to fill it. I'm finding that one of the keys to my recovery is being accountable. It's so easy to get complacent about accountability with your Dad because he sees how hard it's been for me and gives me a pass. But he shouldn't. And having friends helped me to see that. The down side is that I don't want to be accountable. To anyone. I want to sit on the couch and watch movies and cry. I recognize that this is not healthy. I'm okay with it.

Well, not really.

The thing is, I have good days. A lot of them. Sometimes a bunch in a row even. But it's what I imagine drugs must be like, because the lows afterward are that much more unbearable. Because they catch me off guard. I had a solid two week run of keepin' it together and bein' productive. So this week when I came to the end of that run, I was all the more devastated for it. I think I'm starting to see my way out though and it's such a relief. I figured that I was spiralling down in to a pretty serious depression, but I also figured that I'd snap out of it at some point. Six months later, there's no snapping. So I guess I should be grateful that I'm having good days at all. Maybe instead of snapping, I'm climbing. Mt. Everest. Without oxygen tanks. In a bathing suit. In the winter. Uphill, both ways.

I'm also getting to the point where I want to do something when I'm sad. This is a good sign, kid. For a long stretch of time, I didn't want to do anything, and I was sad all the time. Now I'm sad most of the time, but instead of wallowing, a few days ago I discovered that I actually wanted to do something. Like clean - really deep, scrubbing with bleach kind of cleaning - or go for a run. (Okay, maybe a brisk walk. Your Mom is way out of shape, kid.)

I'm feeling hopeful, kiddo. Which is good because next month I have to go talk to the doctor about why I can't get pregnant, or why I can't stay pregnant, rather. Maybe she'll also tell me how to stop thinking I've had another miscarriage every time I get my period. I need to store some of that hopeful feeling up. I'm going to need it...

I love you.
-Mama