Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Funeral Director?

** This is a journal entry from 2009 - several days after finding out I was miscarrying.**

Um. So, okay, today was an incredibly depressing day. Started off with a bang when I POAS and sat there silently watching as only ONE line showed up. Not even a hint of another line. No faint, maybe there is and maybe there isn’t tilting the thing toward the light just so… Nope. No second line. Nothing left. Not pregnant.

Yeah, I know. Duh. I KNOW I’m not pregnant. It’s just something so final about the line being completely gone that sets it in once again. I just can’t help this feeling of utter failure with this process. I know I’m not a failure. I know this isn't my fault. Yet something in my soul feels this way and my head can’t seem to change it. THIS is the one thing I DO. All those cutesy little sayings, like “I’m so crafty I make people”, and “I make milk, what’s your super power”. That’s ME!

I’m good at making babies, nurturing infants through sleepless nights and wonderful schedules and nursing months on end. I’m good at toddlers learning to walk and discovering how to clap their hands. Terrible 2′s and 3′s I’m still working on, okay? But the point is, THIS is what I do. Losing a baby just feels like failure.

And so, in a valiant effort to make myself feel better, I sat down with laundry to fold during nap time and commenced a Dawson’s Creek marathon even though I really should have been doing the million and one things on my to-do list for this weekend.

So I’m sitting there engrossed in this old episode where Pacey is talking to the guidance counselor and is trying to figure out his options. As soon as I saw Pacey get the news that he’s “failed” the aptitude test, I knew I had to take one for myself. You see, I was strangely bereft of normal guidance counselor type activities in high school. The one our school had was an idiot. And no, I won’t apologize for being that harsh, he’s the one that told my brother he’d never be accepted into Embry Riddle. He constantly told him he’d never get in and he’d never be able to afford it. He tried to steer him into the direction of the local community college instead. Thank goodness my brother brushed the guy off and never looked back.

I hope he felt dumb when big bro worked for NASA.

Anyway, me being the not-so-confident high school student, believed him the first and only time I went to his office (who, by the way, was NOT the one who got me into the Early-Acceptance program at Clark)and thus the year off trying to make some money to put myself through school.

And I never got to take an aptitude test.

500 questions later (little did I know what I was getting in to!!) THIS is what pops up:



Um. Okay then. I think my cynicism must be getting a little bit outta hand here. Apparently I scored high on the sympathy end of things and that was oddly balanced out with high scores on the religious and moral side for this lovely combination.

Thanks a lot for cheering me up, aptitude test.

Number 2 option for me: Vet Assistant. Sorry. My sympathy doesn’t transfer to animals NEARLY as much as you’d think. Call me crazy, sick and twisted, but my concern these days is taken up LARGELY by the little people following me around.

And last, but not least: Singer or Actor (performing arts). Oh, thanks. I could’a told you that. And yet strangely not very comforting when I think of how much I used to want to do that, but don't now. I never, ever thought there’d be a time in my life where music would play such a small part. Mostly I sing bland little kid worship songs, the same ones, over and over until I want to poke my eyes out.

At least I scored high on the intelligence part. whoohoo for that.

Eh. Blah. Don’t listen to me right now. I’m down in the dumps and I know it. All day today I felt like deleting every post from my facebook account, removing my blog from the stratosphere, and disappearing into a small black hole. I don’t know where to be. I want to talk about it, but I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want every conversation to be about THIS, or every conversation with anyone I haven’t seen face to face within the last two weeks to start out with this topic. I don’t want to cry, but I don’t want to be numb. I’m sick of hearing myself talk about it. Just hard to move on, though.

And so, my night ended on a tired and frustrated note – with me in the kitchen trying to catch up on the chores I should have been doing earlier in the day and whipping up food for tomorrow. Why? Because life goes on. It doesn't stop for me, for my trials. Everybody has their own trials. The sun still rises the next day.

Must go to bed now. It’s late and I’ll be happy to put this day behind me. Still have a lot on my list to get done in the morning, and I’m sure it’s going to make for some fun times. Coffee is my friend again, for now.

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