My cry for help:
I need you to slap me. I’m serious.
I’m having issues today with finding out she is pregnant again.
They’re a loving couple, really wonderful. & I am so effing jealous I could scream & I don’t want to be that person. But I might actually cry today.
Holy shiit, I’m turning into a crazy m/c girl. Help.
Little J’s response:
I can’t slap you, but how about I e-yell at you? DON’T BE THAT GIRL.
You aren’t jealous OF them. Don’t project your own feelings of want and need onto what other people have. You’re longing for what you don’t have anymore. Keep the focus on yourself and what you want and do your best to remove other people from what is completely separate from you. What they do have does not equal what you don’t have.
In my own times of ugliness, I pray that God will A) forgive me for being so ugly and B) make the ugliness go away. Then pray for hope and faith in the future bc that is what you need to focus on more than anything else.
She is so wise. & praise God that my friends are not enablers.
When I lost Harpie, I made a pact with Little J that if I ever became a bitter, shrew, nasty “miscarriage” girl, that she would throw me to the wolves & eat me alive. Thank you, J, for holding up your end of the bargain. I feel appropriately gnawed upon.
About a week ago, I promised more blogging regarding bitter miscarriage/infertile girls vs those with wombs that procreate like Golden Retrievers. So I went for a run, trying to collect my thoughts. I ate lots of chocolate, followed by a good beer or 5. & I spent a good 30 minutes browsing the baby section in Target…to no avail. I had no wisdom or insight that I felt worthy of blogging.
So I break down baby-making females into two definitions:
Miscarriage/Infertile Girls — One who has difficulty conceiving, or loses a child in the baby oven. Usually marked by bitterness, membership to a “club” they despise, & self-loathing as they instill trepidation into the Fertile Girls.
Fertile Girls — A female blessed with a uterus that knows no bounds. Usually marked by a grossly swollen belly, stroller, & self-worth as they are unfairly forced to walk over egg-shells among the Miscarriage/Infertile Girls.
I have been both. Nate’s super-sperm knocked me up in 2 cycles, equivalent to the speed of lightening. My babe grew & had a strong heartbeat. & then I lost it. I am lucky; I know I will get pregnant again, so thankfully I am not in that last half of the Miscarriage/Infertile Girl group. Although I do not claim to be an expert or speak for any other female out there but myself, I have been both. & in both mindsets, both are equally unfair.
Today, I think about being a MC Girl. Many ask “How do you move on?” after losing a babe. It’s like being in 3rd grade, having a chair pulled out from under you by the popular boy, & even the teacher laughs at you. So you scream injustice in a burning hot shower, let yourself have a few good cries, & then pull yourself up by the bootstraps & start living your life again. Live your life for the present, not for the baby that is no longer there. No amount of begging will bring it back (trust me, I tried bribing God with 2 dozen Oreo Truffles & no dice). It’s not easy. But I realized that in some ways, to ever be happy with the future Harpie Jr, I needed to be able to love life without Harpie.
I love Harpie. I wear a little pendent around my neck every damn day to remind me & everyone else in mylife, just in case the memory starts slipping. But I realized that I was only hurting myself & torturing myself with my own thoughts & actions — hence the incredible self-loathing I found comes with a miscarriage. I felt like everything I did in my life revolved around this little baby that would never be — while shopping for clothes, I cried that I shouldn’t be able to fit into them. While planning a vacation, I cried that I shouldn’t be allowed to travel at the end of May. Every beer I drank tasted like acid because…guess what? I shouldn‘t be able to drink.
SHOULDN’T. What a shittastic word. Like we took SHOULD NOT and to ease the sting of its opression, merged it into one word as a rationalization that it’s a decent action or thought process. The word became my own mental oppression, forbidding me from moving on until I said, “Blair, you’re right. You shouldn’t be shopping for new clothes, but you know what? You are. So suck it up, & love that new navy skirt you just bought. Because that is life in this moment & it’s wonderful.”
Blair, meet life’s bootstraps.
& let me tell you…it feels good.
