Filled with guilt and sadness again. Waiting for the Ambien to kick in because I'm not at all tired. My teeth started chattering when my head hit the pillow. I can't spend another night on the floor of the closet, in tears, again. I haven't cried in 3 days, so that's something? Then I feel guilty for that. I have to sometimes stop and remind myself - not that I ever forget Coraline, but I have to literally tell myself "I gave birth to a stillborn baby. I was pregnant. She died before she was born."
Because no one knows. No one I come in contact with in the "real world" knows. And I'm not going to push my personal tragedy on them - but part of me wants to scream out how beautiful and perfect she was, how she was alive not 24 hours prior to that horrible ultrasound, how we did everything right and she was/is so loved. But I know I can't.
At the grocery store today, in the checkout, an adorable probably 4-year-old girl was behind me in line with possibly her grandmother. I had made a note to purchase mixing cups and spoons, since I've been doing more cooking (something to fill up all the blank empty space while I'm sitting at home remembering I don't have a baby to care for). This little girl had beautiful dark curly hair, what I imagine Coraline may have had if she reached that age. She saw all the items on the belt and remarked "Spoons! And baby bowls!" pointing to the mixing cups, a colorful rainbow which I guess could be mistaken for baby bowls. Outwardly I smiled, inwardly I cringed and my heart hurt. This precocious little bundle of someone's joy then remarked "We just had a baby on Sunday!" My stomach did flips and I felt the heat rush to my face. I choked out "Congratulations" in a sincere voice - this girl was proud of her brother or sister and I wasn't going to ruin that. But it took everything I had not to break down in the car on the way home.
I have a bowl and a spoon for Coraline. Unused, in its package. Along with all her other items. They are all in her untouched, unopened room. The dragonflies I finally spray-painted and placed carefully on the wall above her crib. She won't get to be soothed to sleep in her swing, or by the mobile on her crib, or the Mombo pillow with vibration and music. I'll never know what she looks like in the outfit we picked out for her first Christmas - gorgeous roses with lace on the sleeves and footies. Christmas Eve I actually envisioned what it would have been like to dress her in that - her room would have been calm and dim, I would have gently slid her legs and arms into the outfit and snapped it closed. She would be sleeping peacefully in my arms, smelling of lavender lotion and baby powder, while Parker opened presents, or while Matt and I enjoyed the quiet after he left to go to his dad's house. Instead there was crying and sadness and an emptiness beyond measure.
For a while I wanted to get rid of everything in the house except her belongings. I nearly threw out all of my clothes and shoes and jewelry - none of it had meaning anymore. I'm still trying to get out of the habit of wearing more than 5 different outfits. I don't think I'll touch most of my jewelry, aside from the pieces that have meaning (engagement ring, Coraline's bracelet, Coraline's dragonfly necklace).
Parker asked if he could look at her baby book today. Apropos of nothing, we hadn't been discussing her, he just asked out of the blue. He looked through it and remarked on some of her pictures. I sat and looked with him. He pointed to one page with a picture of Matt and I holding her, looking at her, and asked why we looked so sad. I told him because we were sad - very sad. He said we should be happy because she was the most beautiful baby ever. I told him we were, but we were very sad that she was not alive. I think he's beginning to grasp it more, but I wonder if I did him a disservice by not having him at least meet her/hold her once. I would have loved a picture of Coraline with her big brother.
I feel like I've only contributed misery to Matt's life. He keeps telling me I haven't, that he wouldn't be where he is or have the "great" life he does if we weren't together. But I can't help it - I feel like other people look at us and say "Oh, that's so sad, if only Matt had married so-and-so instead, he would have a living child/wouldn't have this heartache." And I know to some extent they do. This caused him pain, and the people who love him I'm sure want to hurt whoever caused him that. And it was me. And now that I'm so miserable and horrible, I can't be any good to him. I feel like the ultimate failure, as a wife, mother and person.
I'm terrified he's going to connect with someone else more than me - or come to resent me or regret his choices and mine. We're going to drift apart and not talk and just become angry. He'll find someone else, someone who can be that "super-woman" and look perfect and be happy and give him everything he's ever wanted. And I'll be alone again, with no chance of having any more children and a broken heart on top of an empty soul. Then I mentally smack myself and tell myself he deserves better - if he finds someone else, then he should be happy - I shouldn't try to keep him here if he isn't happy. The pressing guilt keeps eating away at my sanity.
Some days it takes a second to hit me - I am the mother of a dead baby. She is never coming home. The last nine months were in vain. The future is unclear and terrifying. I've brought pain and heartache to all those around me. No one can who knows looks at me the same, and no one who doesn't cares. My husband is hurting from losing his first child. I feel I ripped that away from him, cheated him out of what should be the most wonderful experience ever. Now we only have fear in our future - 99% fear and anxiety, maybe 1% hope. I know I should cling to that 1%, but the 99 comes in and shoves everything else out.
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