Wednesday, December 13, 2017

It shouldn't be this hard.

I have made it no secret that Lucy was very much an oopsie baby. We were taking precautions and none of it actually mattered because my uterus hates me. Maybe she just likes to be busy, I don't know. Lucy is 100% our last baby, that is the plan. Matt has had his vasectomy and they are 75% sure I can't get pregnant if I wanted to because of the tremendous blood loss to my ovaries and also not having any hormones, those are important things. But that means there was the 25% maybe and if Lucy could slip through that teeny tiny window, god knows triplets or something would make it in that 25%. So Matt had the vasectomy because we wanted to make DAMN SURE a fifth baby cannot happen.

So no more babies. We knew that. I know that. I do. I can't remember anything from yesterday but I vividly remember agreeing to no more babies. Done. No more.

Which makes my recent feelings about that really bizarre to me. I remember being sad when we got rid of all of the baby things after Jackson, I definitely did not feel done after him. This time, I feel done. I do. I think. I mean, I guess I don't remember if what I feel now is different back then, but it's really tough.

In the back of my head I had this wiggly, random angry feeling about being done. It's one thing to be done on your own terms, but being told I am done from a medical standpoint? That bothers me. It feels like a parent telling a kid no and they've got that look in their eye when you know they are going to do it anyways. It's just like that. Part of me wants to get pregnant and be like, "SCREW YOU, I can totally get pregnant!" and the other part of me is so damn relieved I don't have to do it again. I never have to deal with the fear of delivery and wondering what if.

Then there are days like today, where I'm trying to clean and organize, and it's not going well. I was getting angry with myself because I don't have the ability to do things like I once could, and I decide that now is the time to clean the cupboard with toddler dishes.
So I lined all of the bottles up and the mesh feeder and I started crying. Crying so hard I almost couldn't breathe. It felt like the biggest punch to my gut, a visual realization that this is really it. Then when I realized that I don't remember any of Lucy's firsts, or what it was like to snuggle her newborn self, the sound of her first laugh, her perfect baby smell, how soft her first hair was, or what she felt like on my chest? I can't remember what it was like to feel her kick in my stomach, or rub my belly, the excitement of labor and knowing she was coming. I cried like someone had died. On my kitchen floor. Alone. I cried and I cried.

I am so angry that all of those moments, especially profound since she is my last, are gone. They have been stolen from me and I can't ever get them back. Worse yet? I have no memory of any of my kids. The only "memories" I have are like actual snapshots in my head. Like the pictures in their baby books is what I have and I know it must have happened because I'm in the photos. I don't have that with Lucy. I don't know what it was like to hold her for the first time, and I imagine I must have felt a lot of things considering I had died.

Matt said he was told that one of the medications they had given me at some point would basically make me not remember the event and subsequent pain, but they didn't know if I'd have any other memory loss- it's kind of a toss up. And in hindsight, know how much is gone, I would give anything to have it all back. I would have taken the horrific pain for these memories. But I know in the split seconds they had, the medical team thought this was best. I can't fault them for that,  I would have made the same call if someone asked me to make that kind of decision for someone else.

I imagine this is what it maybe feels like to have dementia or the beginning of Alzheimer's, there are lots of things you don't remember and you don't remember what you don't remember. If you ask me a direct question, I probably can't answer it, but if I'm not trying to remember, some times it just pops through my head. Like in the dark, until your eyes adjust your peripheral vision is better than looking straight ahead- that's how my brain is. I know the information is there but if I try to remember in a really roundabout way, I can do it. Ask me to recall information right away? Nope.

So that's where I'm at. I am slowly ridding the house of baby things and it's killing me. The crib will likely come out this weekend and I know I am going to be a mess. I know it. I'm scared. I feel like there isn't ever going to be a good time to do it and maybe I need to just rip it off like a bandage. All of my doctors and therapist tell me it's normal to be angry and sad. To have unexpected triggers and it's OK to cry. I don't have to apologize for it, I just need to get myself to the next moment. It all passes, even the moments when it hurts so bad it feels like a tangible pain. I would never wish this on anyone. Never, ever.

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