Avert your eyes men!

This post contains subject matter of a feminine topic. Men, you may want to avert your eyes.

I'm supposed to start my cycle on Saturday. I know, we all feel much closer now. But here's the thing. That knowledge fills me with extreme anxiety. I am anxious that I may be pregnant. Logic tells me this isn't likely since we've done pretty much everything to prevent that from happening...but what if? I'm not ready to be pregnant yet. Then, on the other hand, I'm anxious that I am not pregnant. Which logic tells me is the best thing right now. But, the emotional side of me wants to be pregnant. I shouldn't be having my period because I should be 33 1/2 weeks pregnant. Should be. But, I'm not. It's messing with my head. I want to still be pregnant, and I want to still be huge and waddling around and complaining about being pregnant. I want to be fixing up the guest room to be the new nursery. I want to be busy nesting, and dreaming, and planning, and freaking out about having a new baby. I want all of that. I want my son. He should be here still. He should be kicking my ribs, and hiccuping, and doing somersaults. He should be. And I'm right back to being pissed that he's not. Last month was my first one. I didn't know it would arrive so soon (exactly 6 weeks to the day!) so I didn't have time to dwell on it. And when it arrived, it annoyed me, and made me terribly sad. This month, I'm anxious of what could be, and what probably isn't, and what I don't want, and what I really do. And I'm confused, and anxious, and full of sorrow. I hate what has happened to all of us. It is so permanent, and I can't hope for any change at all. And I see the dark cloak swooping in on me again, and I'm trying like hell to out run it. Now, I know that a lot of this is fueled by hormones, but not all. I don't want to replace Logan. I don't want to necessarily be pregnant with a different baby. I just want a do over. I want to try to get it right this time, and right with Logan. Obviously that's not possible. But I've come to realize that my heart doesn't have a shred of logic in it. Not a shred. I should be 33 1/2 weeks pregnant today. Should be. I should be 6 weeks from having my son.

My mom was here over this past weekend. I finally got the opportunity to show her Logan's memory box. And I realized something as I looked at his pictures. I didn't feel anything. There was a dead baby there. But not mine. My son had big blue eyes and blond hair. My son had his daddy's beautiful smile, and a cute little macho walk. My son, the one I always pictured, was not the one in those photo's. I didn't know that little boy. And it made me so sad, and it made me livid. I wanted to throw my kitchen chair against the cabinets. I didn't, obviously. I just sat there. I stared at a dead little baby with so much anger it blinded me. My baby wasn't supposed to be born yet. He wasn't supposed to be past tense. He wasn't supposed to be a dirty little secret, or an unspeakable horror. He wasn't supposed to be dead. I just don't know why after some ten weeks I still can't wrap my head around what happened. I don't know why I feel so obsessive and angry about something I have no power to change. I don't know why I can't seem to accept that I had a son, and he died. Why can't I accept that? Why can't I move on? Grandparents die, we move on. Aunts and Uncles die, we move on. We don't obsess over it. We don't scream that it wasn't fair. We accept it, and we move on. I can't accept this. I can't move on. I want to. Believe me, I've never wanted to move on so bad in my life. But I'm stuck right here. Stuck in the knowledge that my son is dead, that he's not coming back, and that we may never go on to have more children. And I hate it. I hate every blasted minute of this grief, and loss and knowledge and sorrow. I hate that it is steeped in every aspect of my life from looking at my husbands face and knowing my son would have looked just like him, to watching my daughter play and laugh and knowing I'll never have that with Logan, to my freakin' period! It's everywhere. I can't out run it, I can't hide from it, and I'm obviously having a hard time dealing with it. Where's my baseball bat? Something needs to get smashed!