I'm scared, I'm angry and I'm hateful!

I feel like I'm getting sucked under again today. The maternity clothes in my closet feel like a heavy weight that presses down on me. I've been obsessing over them for a few days. Pack them away? Give them away? Leave them in my closet? I've left them in there because somehow I formed this deceptive shroud around me that as soon as we were physically cleared to start trying, we would. Apparently I was the only one hanging out with that delusion. Part of me knew it. The logical part of me knew that this was most likely the end of my child bearing days. But my heart cries for more babies. I want more children. I should be happy with one. I should feel so grateful that I have a perfect daughter. But I can't find that gratitude. I can't find the contentment to have an only child. You can't force your spouse to have more children if they don't feel like they can. I am not the only one who suffers through this nightmare. What would that do to him? What would that do to me? What would that do to the child? It makes me feel crazed and selfish. I never thought there would be such a huge gaping divide between us. But there is, at least for now. And I'm terrified. I'm scared what it will do to us. I'm scared that I'll blame him and become bitter and resentful. I'm scared that he will too, if he agrees to have more children when he doesn't really want to. It is in my nature to give my daughter everything she needs. People need siblings. They need family who will be there long after we're gone. I have always felt very strong about that. They need someone they can gripe about their parents too, someone who knows and gets it because they have the same parents. And I feel like I am cheating my daughter. And I feel like I have so much more love to give. It's only been four months. And I keep trying to convince myself that there's time, that he may decide he wants more children too. But I know that our biggest fear (at the time) came true. Our child had Down Syndrome. That was always a thought for us, for some unknown reason. We were always affraid about having a child with DS. And then it happened. I was too old. At 31, I was already too old. I waited too long. I should have started earlier. I just never seemed to be ready. It never seemed to be the right time. If I had known... I would have done it differently... I didn't know I had one shot. I didn't know I would be punished for wanting to do the right thing, to grow up, to be married, to be emotionally ready, to be financially stable. I didn't know I would be punished. I didn't believe there was any possibility that my early thirties was too late. And now I'm ready and it's too late and I've missed my opportunity to have as many kids as I wanted. I don't want this decision to be out of my hands. I don't want to be forced to stop having babies because God's "plan" is the only plan, and regardless if I understand it or not I'm just supposed to trust him. How am I supposed to trust in the all powerful, if he allows such cruelty? Did he not create my son? Did he not create the egg that didn't do it's job? I couldn't control that! I couldn't prevent that, or have known! I couldn't have fixed it. I wasn't given the chance. I wasn't given the choice. I didn't want a retarded child, but I didn't want a dead one either! He didn't have to create life that month. How many months of my life have potential babies gone by the way side? Hundreds! So why now!? Why would he not only create life from such a disturbingly bad scenario, but then to take it away in the same breath? And to leave us with THIS! This horrible ache, this fear, this anxiety. None of which I can come to terms with! So how am I supposed to think it's ok now? How am I supposed to relax and think I can wait a while, maybe my husband will come around? If I was too old at 31, what will I be at 33? I understand his reasons. Don't tempt fate. Do we want to loose another baby? Do we want to have a child with DS, since the odds are so freakin' high NOW? What would that do to our family? He'd resent me if something went wrong. It would be my fault. I have a 1/100 chance odd for a repeat...that makes my reproductive system like 45 years old. It's stupid. But I can't help the ache. I can't help the desire. I can 't help but think that God wouldn't possibly be that cruel to me again. But he is. Lots of woman loose more than one baby. Lots of woman try for years and never get any. And I can't help but think that maybe I'm loosing out on some of the greatest love because we're too scared to get hurt again. What if I have more children out there with my name on them, healthy children, that I might never get to meet because there's a huge "what if" that hangs over our heads! How will I survive? How will I ever find the sheer bliss I had just a few months ago? I feel like not only did my son die, but now all of the other children I wanted. The other children I planned on. The other children I hoped for...it feels like they have all died too. And if I have no hope, and if I have no assurance that I will come out of this on the other side, whole and unbroken... How can I be any good to anyone else? How will I be able to accept this? How will I be able to live with this? How will I not be resentful? How will I not be bitter? I KNOW that I could go on to have fifty children, and not one of them would ever replace Logan. I know that I have a gaping hole where he should be, and nothing will ever fill that. I KNOW. But I can't end it on such a bad note. I can't just fold and give up. I keep telling myself that if I did have another baby die, it wouldn't be as bad. I'd be expecting it. I'd know it was likely to happen. I'd know what it felt like. If I was prepared, maybe I could handle it. Maybe I could chance the heartbreak and devastation if it meant I might get lucky enough to have a healthy baby, even if I had to repeat the scenario a few times. Maybe I could handle it. Maybe having a healthy baby would be a salve to the heartbreak. Maybe a healthy baby in the end would make it worth going through it again and again and again. Maybe. But I think it boils down to the fact that I just can not accept that God would be so cruel to me. No. God wouldn't possibly do that to me again. It would kill me. It would push me so far over the edge that I wouldn't come back from it. He has to know that. But what if my husband is right? What if Logan's death was more like a warning? And what if we do keep pushing and we end up with a severely unhealthy child? A consequence for not having headed God's warning. What would that do to us? It's not fair to my daughter. None of this is fair to any of us, and I don't get it. I don't get why this happened. I didn't just loose my son, I lost my hope. I lost what tiny shred of faith I had. I lost my innocence. And if I were to go on to have an unhealthy child, because I pushed, because I insisted...I'd loose my family too. I'd loose my husband. I'd loose what tiny shred of happiness I have left. You'd think that would be enough to convince me to stop being foolish. You'd think. Even if he did change his mind, even if he tried to convince me he wanted more children...I'd still be leery. I'd still wonder if he was doing it for me. It wouldn't be like before. We wouldn't be in it together. It wouldn't be mutually happy. I am so hateful for what this has done to us. Scared to find comfort in each other. Scared what could come of it, what might not come of it. I hate that this has given me such fear and anger. Above all else WE are supposed to survive this. Him and I, together.

I can't celebrate. I hate that people are celebrating, and that I'm supposed to put on the happy face and play along. I don't want to play along. I don't want to share in other peoples happiness. I want to be left alone. I want to hide here in my home and not be apart of anyone else's world. I don't want to go to weddings, and showers. I don't want to hear about anyone else's problems. I don't want to hear about anyone else's life. I just want to fade away. I want to watch from a distance, when I feel like it. I do not want life to go on. I do not want to move past this part of my own life, like it never was. I don't want to talk to people. I don't want to answer the phone. I want to be left alone. I want to scream at everyone to leave me alone! Stop asking how I'm doing when you can't possibly get it. When you don't even really want to know! Stop probing me. Stop asking about it like you're being sensitive when really you just want to stare at the wreck that is me. You just want to break me, see if I'm human. See if I'm going to cry for my dead son. See if you can be the one to crack my wall. Stop pretending that you give a crap, when you just want to be needed. When you just want to be in the know. I want people who really care. Who care how it affects me, not them. Who care what this has done to ME! Who accept ME and the way that I am handling this, who don't take it personal, who don't try to inject themselves into my grief because it makes THEM feel better. This isn't about THEM, it's about ME! I hate people anymore. Why do people feel the need to call and push the subject when it's clearly a bad time? If I wanted to talk to you about it, then I would call you. I would talk to you about it. Why do you keep bringing it up and asking obvious questions? I think people want to hurt me. "It's Mother's Day, how are you handling it?"..."How the flip do you think, but thanks for bringing it up when I was trying my best to forget about it for one blasted minute!" Why? Why do they do that? So I'll turn to them for comfort? It's hideous. It makes me resent them. It makes me hateful. And I'm bitterly jealous. I didn't think I would be. I thought I'd be happy when my friend got pregnant. I was at first, but I'm not now. She tried to lump her pain in with mine. It took a few months to conceive...apparently that makes you infertile. She would complain and cry. Now she only wants a girl. I hate her for that. She should want and be happy with any baby. She should see how lucky she is to be older than me and to have a baby that lives. But she's only 12 weeks...there's still time. It's sick to think that. I don't want that baby to die. I don't want anyone to feel this pain. But it's been too easy for her. No morning sickness, so she tells me something MUST be wrong with her baby. And I just want to punch her. Is she trying to relate? Does she want something to be wrong with her baby? She asks me to throw her a shower, she shows me her maternity clothes...she's wearing maternity clothes now...ones that I wore...she doesn't look pregnant. I hate her for being pregnant. I hate her for worrying about her baby not being right, and then telling me that worrying is part of being a mother. She has no clue. My thoughts are sick, and they make me feel bad about who I am. When really, I'm just so sad. I don't want to be this person. I don't want to be at this point in my life. I don't want to be so filled with anger and hatred and sorrow. I don't want to feel scared and panicky and hopeless. I want to rewind. I want this to have not happened. I want us to be starting fresh to have another child now that my daughter is 16 months old. I want the excitement back, the pure joy of creating a new life. I can't help but feel like I should have known that was a bad month. And I know there are medical ways around having a child with DS. They could harvest the eggs and weed out the old ones. I hate that people whisper in our ears. I hate that anyone has the audacity to truly think they can have an opinion. I don't want their untainted opinions. They don't KNOW this pain. They can't even begin to fathom what THIS is. And I hate them for thinking because they witnessed it, maybe felt a little of their own over it, that they could even begin to think they have an inkling of what it is I feel and think and suffer through. They don't. They couldn't possibly.