I have the cutest son in the world. He is the reason why I want more kids although I haven’t been lucky in that department. It stings whenever I see him getting sociable with other younger kids but, oh well, I suppose it’s not our time yet.
I will admit it, I’m not keen on being pregnant. Not anymore. I used to tell my friends that I loved being pregnant, that I felt most beautiful when I was pregnant. Unfortunately, it is no longer the case anymore. The innocence of being pregnant has lost on me. Sometimes, I wonder if my failure in this respect has anything to do with my trepidation over being pregnant. I do believe my hesitation is just due to fear but maybe truly, I just am not wanting it hard enough? Maybe that’s why I don’t get to keep my babies? Cause you know, Kim doesn’t want a baby hard enough.
I was in the middle of getting my life back when I found out I was pregnant recently. While I was thrilled with the baking bun in the oven, I was also slightly disappointed that we had to suddenly put many plans on hold. Running 10K. Perform an unassisted headstand by the end of the year. See my mum-in-law in England. We were supposed to visit Barcelona and Ibiza too. Resume scuba diving. Oh, and finally visiting Japan! I had to stop all my activities immediately cause I don’t want a baby to fall out of my bits. All those plans evaporated the moment the second line appeared on the stick. Due to my scummy cervix I had to be near my hospital for my entire pregnancy so there was no other options but to stay put, and stay still.
But it’s okay, I found a doctor I liked and we hatched a battle plan to ensure the birth of a healthy full term baby. Alas, I lost it anyway. I wonder what sort of bug I picked up in Lombok? I thought 9 weeks was pretty safe to travel to somewhere near and yet, the heartbeat just stopped. Doc said it could just be chromosomal abnormality but what if it wasn’t? What if it really was the flu? This means I caused it right because I made the decision to go to Lombok? Was it sensible to fly 3 hours in a plane full of people who coughed without covering their mouths? Did I bring this upon myself? I really shouldn’t blame myself but the questions swirl constantly in the mind and cannot be stopped.
Lately I find myself looking at pictures of Apollo and Artemis again. Thinking of the what-ifs. Crying. Wondering why I hadn’t done this and that and hating on people who are happily pregnant with their seconds and thirds. Crying. Finding faults with my husband, with myself, with people I think who should have cared more. Crying. Eating 3/4 of a 9×9″ brownie. Crying. I can’t stand myself like this. And yet, I can’t help it.
I hate that I’m writing this blog post. I hate its tone. I hate its content. I hate that it’s incoherent. I feel weak and lame and pathetic. But I do this because I always seem to feel better after pouring everything out in words.
I am very sad. However, I am not grief stricken. I know the difference between the two. I hope nobody ever has to find out the difference for themselves.