Important dates.

Dear Baby,

I know it's mid-April and I'm complaining about the start of 2010, but bear with me. It's been a tough couple of months, kid.

Our beloved O died on January 1. Your Dad and I couldn't bring ourselves to eat dinner that night, let alone the traditional black eyed peas and collards we usually eat for luck and prosperity in the new year. January 1 will forever be a day of grief for me, rather than the birth of a new year with new possibilities. That would have been bad enough to be going along with, but it got worse.

Remember I told you O gave us a gift that didn't seem like a gift? He actually gave us many, many gifts - like patience and laughter - but the one I am referring to specifically is this: O taught us that control is an illusion. I know. It's a terrible gift. And you can't return it, no matter how many receipts you have. I have spent my whole life as a control freak. You'll find this out when we meet, I promise. I don't go into water I can't see through. I don't drink excessively, I never did drugs. Never, ever. I hate driving, but being a passenger is just as bad because I can't operate the pedals. There are myriad ways in which my controlling nature manifests itself, and in one small breath of time, O shattered the illusion that I actually had control over anything in my life. It was a humbling lesson. I hope to retain some of it by the time you come along.

Here's why the lesson was a gift. On March 2, I found out I was pregnant. It was also the day I found out I had been having a miscarriage for the past month. I appreciate that you stopped by to say hello, kid, but it made your departure that much more painful. And it wasn't a quick goodbye, either. I was only pregnant for a month, but it took almost three more to miscarry. I don't even have words for how awful it is. "Awful" seems so small in comparison with the enormity of the feeling. I'm left grieving for a life I didn't know and never will. I don't even know how to deal with this, to be honest. How do I classify this hurt? Do I think of you as a unique individual or as a visitor that will come again at some point? I don't have any kind of spiritual framework, so the "visitor" hypothesis is a bit of a stretch for me. (Well, that's not exactly true. I have a spiritual framework, so I can fit "visitor" into it - which is how I've been coping in the mean time, by the way - but I don't have a god to blame this on or to ask for help or to imagine that this is all part of "His" plan. Now I understand better why people do have that framework, though.) Did I lose a child? Not exactly, but kinda. Is it okay for me to have this much trouble functioning when it was "only" a one month pregnancy? I tend to think so, but admittedly, my judgement on the matter is clouded.

Here's the truth, Baby. I cry almost every single day. Crying jags aren't as fun as advertised, trust me. I vacillate between periods of frenetic activity, so I can't think about anything, and periods of complete non-functioning. Sleeping absurd amounts, staring blankly at my computer when I'm supposed to be working, more crying jags. (Writing a blog...) You get the picture. My house is a mess and I hate it. It reflects my life and my soul at the moment, which makes me hate it even more.

I haven't really told anyone about the whole ordeal, including your grandmother, which is maybe part of the problem. This is very odd, because as you will later learn, I talk to your grandmother all the time. I don't know, kid. I just couldn't say the words to her. I couldn't hear the sympathy and pity in her voice. I didn't want to be defined by what has been a traumatic and terrible time in my life, and I didn't want you, by extension, to be defined by it as well. Your Dad knows (obviously), my doctor knows (again, obviously), and, weirdly, my karate instructor knows. I had to tell him before I started in case there was any danger posed for future conception. I told him last week and burst into tears when I did it.

Another tidbit about your mother: I cry. A lot. I cry in every situation - it's my go-to emotional reaction to everything: anger, happiness, sadness, frustration. And it pisses me off. I get upset abut something, start crying, get pissed and frustrated and cry harder. It's ridiculous for a grown woman to cry all the damn time! It's also extremely embarrassing to cry in front of strangers or people you don't know well, particularly men, and particularly when you are going to have to later call them "Sensei" and run around yelling and kicking like a fool. (Another tidbit: I am extremely uncoordinated. I hope that gene skips you, but based on family history, it ain't lookin' so good, kid.)

On December 31, I was full of hope for how great 2010 was going to be, and now, mid-April, I'm left feeling as though some kind of emotional grenade has exploded in my life, and I have no idea how to go about cleaning up the torn flesh and shrapnel. I worry that I am being too crazy and pushing your Dad away. I don't think I am, but not because I am not being crazy (I am. Being crazy.), but because your father is a singularly wonderful and patient human being. He doesn't always know the right thing to say - life is not a romantic comedy where the male lead always knows exactly what to do to make the uplifting score kick in - but he is literally emotional granite. A complete and solid foundation. I'm more like emotional limestone, but I digress.

I don't know how to fix any of this other than to live through it, but that is the crappiest way to fix anything, ever. You'll have to try it someday, and you'll believe me then. Everything eventually gets fixed, or fixes itself, but whole process is long and drawn out and painful. Like making yourself a huge duct tape band aid and then picking it off one ripped-out-hair at a time. Will getting pregnant again fix it? Will it help at all? Will I be so ecstatic that you are finally en route that I will forget to be sad at the end of September, when you would have originally been due? We could have shared birthdays, you know. After I turned 28 I learned to loathe the passing years and viewed birthdays as a horror to avoid. Miscarrying a baby that would have been born around my birthday doesn't seem like it will help that feeling... Just sayin'.

All of the important dates of 2010 have been horrific, Baby. There's no hope for January 1, unless by some miracle you happen to be born on that day some time in the future, but even then it will be bittersweet at best. March 2 is tainted too. My birthday... Well, that has been tainted for a good five years now anyway, but this year has done it no favors in terms of chances-for-returning-to-grace-at-some-point.

I'm trying to take some positive steps to insure I'm in a better place by the time you actually arrive, but they are baby steps at best. A karate class (more exercise, more energy, maybe dropping a few pounds so I won't feel like a terrible human being when I put them back on while pregnant with you), a garden, more time with friends, more time with your Dad, more time with our kitties... I have to admit, even with all these positive steps, sometimes it feels like a trip to the "Talkin' Doctor" wouldn't be amiss. I'm resisting that for the moment, though. Another thing you'll learn about your mother down the road: I hate asking for help. Not my best quality, but I'm working on it.

I miss you. Hope you come back soon. Love you forever.
Mama