I am not even considering the blog challenge to post every day in November, because the fact that it is November 2nd and I’ve already missed a day is not a good omen for success.
I am spent. Even as physically this week has been fine, emotionally I am exhausted. Worrying. I have so many thoughts going through my mind that I can only stare at the computer screen, and write long rambling paragraphs as I try to work through my feelings. I decided not to subject you to them – if only because I really have no idea how I am feeling right now.
I am worried because it has now been almost ten months since Natan died and it’s looking like I’m not going to wake up and find out it was a nightmare. This is my life and the world has moved on.
We’re reaching two major milestones at the moment. First, we spent yesterday afternoon and evening, well into the night, making space in this apartment for a potential homecoming. Not too much has changed, and if disaster occurs, we won’t need to undo anything. We packed up stuff that we won’t need before we move again this summer and we moved furniture just in case we need room for a crib. But if not, it can just stay where it is. We put a very mobile chair in the spot where the crib could go. When I say “we” I obviously mean Josh with me watching. I had marked November 1 as the day I’d be willing to make arrangements for a possible baby in the house – figuring that I could really go at any moment now with the baby possibly needing only a short NICU stay, and then it would be seriously difficult to make room for him here. We have very, very few baby items on hand – 20 BumGenius diapers, some clothing Kate brought us, the blankets I crocheted and a hat – but there will be space for more if the time comes. And then of course we are 12.5 hours away from 34 weeks.
We had to move Natan’s box from the armoire where it had been living to re-install the changing table part. Thrice mused the other day that she is not sure how to respond to the coincidence of my grief for Natan and this pregnancy. She is right that I’m upset if people don’t acknowledge my first son. I can’t really respond as to how I want people to act or what I want them to say. I know I am deeply grateful for friends who do say his name, and talk about him. I know I am angry with those who don’t – but I am not angry simply because they don’t. In those cases there’s history beyond it. I appreciate so much all the love and compassion I’ve received, and if some of it is sometimes imperfect, I’m okay with that. Some days I want and need to speak about him, his life, his birth, his death, and some days I cannot. Friends and family and blogreaders are somewhat required, I guess, to walk a careful line with me, and I love those who are willing to try.
One thing that’s apparent, however, is that while this pregnancy is healing me, that healing is incomplete. I can only imagine the safe birth of this baby will bring more incomplete healing. It will heal the terrible fear I have that my body is incompetent to nurture a child. It will heal the terrible fear that I may need to learn to live life without living children. But my ache for Natan is still overwhelming. For a short while, I found his pictures, his footprints comforting. Right now I am overwhelmed, by an ache for him, by sadness and continuing shock over what happened and the sight of his box brings a mixture of pain and love.
I am worried. Worried that people will think this baby’s birth erases Natan. Worried about dealing with a grandparent who has never acknowledged his first grandson but who constantly wants updates on this pregnancy. I am worried because that makes me feel like an incubator, and a broken one at that. I am worried that something will still go wrong. I am worried that something preventable will go wrong and I will miss the signs.
I am worried because we are headed towards some inevitable conclusion and I have no idea yet what it will bring.
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