Processing, and P.S.

I've been sleeping a lot.

I can't seem to get enough of bed, lately; dozing on the couch. Enjoying the feel of the cool pillow against my cheek, sheets against my bare feet.

The last couple of days or so, I've been dreaming about home -- the home I grew up in. Every so often I dream about it, and/or the street where I grew up. Some alterations to the house. Or the neighborhood. One dream in the last few days had the kitchen very small. Like we had to turn sideways to go in. It was my house, but not my house.

And family. Well, actually, my mom and my sister. Hm. And my grandparents. Well all of them, but the parts with my mom, grandmother and sister stand out. But mostly in the kitchen, living room, dining room. Growing up, the kitchen was the most used room in the house.

Part of my dream was in the living room, and my grandmother had all this yarn for a sweater for me, I think, and she wanted me to choose a color. When I was a kid, at least half of my sweaters were grandma-made. She even sewed a tag in: Made with love, by Grandma. I didn't really like most of the colors, but settled on a deep green that was mixed with an off-white/neutral/brownish vein.

There was cooking or baking. The house and kitchen were busy, like there was a party or preparations for something was going on. Except the oven was in the wrong place. When I was in high school or college or something, my parents re-did the kitchen and moved things around. In my dream, the oven was the old one, in the old place. Did something get spilled? Or not put away?

There was my sister. And we were getting along great. I think we were packed in the back seat of the car...it was so big my sister and her friends called it the living room, with its huge, comfortable bench seats. So I was asking A questions about her pregnancy and the baby...I don't know if it was in the house or the car... Some questions I hesitated to ask though. What were they...?

And suddenly, she became moody and bitchy, which she used to do all the time, and I've seen her do on occasion as an adult, and I was silenced. I bit my tongue and felt...

Like I did when I was a kid. Unimportant. Silenced. Stupid. What was I thinking asking questions.

*****

Well, it's not hard to figure out what's going on here, at least in part of it. All the women in my immediate family, and me. Questions, conversations I have no place in.

Shit.

Infantalized. Back in my house, in the car, kind of the way they were when I was a kid.

God.Dammit.

*****

I think I've been feeling the difference since I've been off the W. Even though I am more myself, feeling better, there's something missing that I think maybe was there a few weeks ago. Some spark or energy. I don't know.

I've also has a few more really sad... moments. A few more tears around babies and dead babies and stupid, complacent parents and their glorification.

I'm reconsidering seeing my sister when she has the baby. Most of the time, I'm ready to go, to be there to celebrate and support. I spent $60 on stuff for the baby at T.arget yesterday after therapy. I spent probably half an hour in the baby section and mostly enjoyed myself.

((Except, at one point, a young mother, maybe 19 years old, was talking to her 2-year old daughter, talking about getting a potty for her. She, the mother, looked at me and asked me what I thought, is 2-years old okay enough to start with the potty training? I said, probably, at least to keep in the bathroom, get her used to it, get her interested in. The baby could sit on her potty when Mom went. She said she thought shed go pick one up, and she thanked me for the help, this is her first child and she really wasn't sure what she was doing.

Her first child. Why talk to me? Because I'm probably close to twice her age, and I could talk with authority since I had worked with little ones. That's the only reason I could discuss it. Thank god she didn't ask me how many I had. I swallowed the lump in my throat and proceeded to agonize over which blanket to get, which size onesies.))

But then I get a wave of sadness and I think -- what the hell am I doing? I'll cry, that's expected, but what else is it going to do to me? I have to have it together this summer, and especially this fall. I'm afraid it's going to shake something loose and, well, I'm going to fall apart. Again.

*****

My energy is low. I'm finding it almost impossible to get motivated to do the little work I've been responsible for. Occasional laundry or emptying the dishwasher, washing a few dishes. Mixing together C's favorite tuna macaroni salad (my mom's) felt like such an effort. I'm cranky.

I'd read somewhere recently that ECT causes seizures like the one I had. There was a small, a teeny, tiny part of me that hoped that it would actually have helped with all this. You know, since ECT is and was used for depression. Oh, god, I can't believe I admitted that.

*****

Well. I've got nothing else. Not right now, anyway. That's enough rambling. I've used enough of C's laptop battery. Maybe I'll try to do some work.

Thanks for listening.

*****
P.S. Just to clarify: this is my older sister who has been struggling with IF 2 years longer than I have. She was unbelievably supportive when I lost the boys. She became pg with twins of her own three weeks after my loss, but lost them due to IC at about 18 weeks. She got a cerclage and got pg last fall and has been very sensitive to my struggle. Initially, I told her that I likely wouldn't be able to visit right away, and she was totally understanding. It's only been the last few months that I've considered making the trip across the country to visit and help out. Because I was feeling better. Not so sure now. I know she'd be sensitive to my needing a break, as would my dad, who will be there. Not sure about my BIL, but he's not that much of an issue.

I haven't talked to her about this yet. I'd like to be more sure one way or the other. Wishful thinking, I guess.