I’m throwing a pity party. But I’ve earned this one. Is it actually pity if its totally earned? Or then does it cross over into genuine self-sympathy?
I got a stupid email from a stupid baby thing telling me today is the first day of my stupid third trimester.
Except it isn’t. Or at least it isn’t anymore. Because I’m not pregnant. Anymore. I was. Until about ten weeks ago.
I try not to think about it, about my baby, but he’s there, all the time in my mind. I think about where I would have put the bunk beds that he would be sharing some day with his older brother. About how I would have redecorated the nursery to accommodate two little people. I think about how amazing it would have been to have two little ones wrestling around. Two athletes close in age in high school.
And then I think about how none of that is going to happen. And it fucking hurts. I can see him everywhere I look. How our house would be slightly more cluttered, but in a good way. All the time. There’s no off switch.
This is so fucking unfair.
I’m a good mom. My husband is a GREAT dad. We are good Catholic people, raising good (most of the time) kids. Crap like this isn’t supposed to happen to me. To us. Not when shit parents all over the world keep reproducing all the damn time.
My day didn’t suck. Not until I got that email.