Backsliding

Went for a lovely walk with my friend S and her wonderful dog last week. She was taking a break from her dissertation work and knew I needed some puppy-therapy, so she called to invite me along. (Lucy is a gol.den ret.riever/pood.le mix and the sweetest thing on earth. She gets so excited to see me she kind of cries and then runs to get me a toy for us to play with. She's the kind of dog that makes you feel like you're her favorite. Love that.)

Well, it was a lovely walk, down a hill, then along a creek and it would have been just perfect except that it had rained the day or so before and the path was muddy. I'm not steady on my feet anyway, especially downhill. Especially if it's muddy, and therefore kind of slippery. Especially if you haven't gotten any exercise of any substance since at least August because, well, you know why. Once we got down the hill, I was okay, if slow since I'm completely and utterly the most out of shape I have ever been. I realized the last time I went on this route with her was when S was trying to get pg, and was getting tested and coming back with mixed results. She is now growing child #2.

Despite some sore muscles, I made it through the walk, and back up the hill to the car. Out of breath and sore, but okay. Actually came out of it feeling good.

*****

I was going to start this post with "I'm back here again, I'm sitting up in the middle of the night, listening to C breathe. I am unable to move, even to take something to help me sleep."

It's true. Since Sunday afternoon, I've tumbled back down the hill. Slid on the mud, on my ass. I think it started when my sister called, and I didn't answer. I feel so conflicted. And I need to let her come to me if she wants support. But was that what she was doing? And when I was needing it most, I didn't have to ask. She probably wouldn't accept it anyway.

And I miss my boys. I miss being pregnant with them (sickness and all). I've been without them almost as long now as I was with them. Maybe longer. This is not the way it's supposed to be. And I'm supposed to go on with my life. I'm so pissed that if I ever have children, they will have a mother who is sad. I had a sad mom, too, for different reasons. And I know I won't always be this sad, but it will not be as it should. (Yes, I know, it is rarely as it should be. You know what I mean.) There will always be someone missing.

The official due date is coming up next week. I can feel myself picking up speed as I careen down this hill. Out of control. Scared. I've come to realize that, had everything gone according to plan, I probably would have 2 living sons by now. My therapist has a theory about all the dates that I keep track of. I don't even recall what it was, something about holding on to moments. Perhaps that I don't necessarily need to let go of them, but carry them with me as I move forward. Try to live my life. Even if it does feel incomplete and shredded. Even if I don't really want to.

There's some witty or poetic way to end this post, this metaphor of the muddy hill, and I don't know what it is. I just fucking hate all of this.