I pulled up TimeHop on my phone this morning.
I read a post from three years ago– it was my son’s seventh birthday party. We did a football theme that year and a strangely warm late January day meant the boys could actually play some ball outside.
I remember being so grateful for that because my husband had it all under control. I was glad to catch a little break.
Because, you see, I was pregnant.
I don’t know why it took memories of that party to serve as the punch in the gut this year, but there you go.
I remember being a wee bit queasy and obnoxiously tired as I fought my way through the onslaught of birthday parties that year.
No one knew. Not my family. Not the parents of our party goers. Not any of you. Well, except for two of you, perhaps. I told a couple of you long-distance blog friends I’ve had since well before G. was even born. But no one else except my husband.
It’s hard to reconcile being so very happy with my life, yet feeling terribly cheated. I mean, on the one hand, I couldn’t be substitute teaching– something I’m truly enjoying– if I had a two-year-old. I wouldn’t be in this “sweet spot” phase of parenting children who are all at relatively easy stages, truth be told. No babies. No toddlers. No teens. No angst. No random tantrums. I mean… there’s some GOOD stuff going on right now.
But there’s a part of me that’s still so broken. So fragile. So easily ripped open.
And the fact that I feel like no one in my life remembers or cares or thinks lingering grief is justified just makes me feel like, I don’t know… an idiot? Overly dramatic? Foolish? It’s stupid, because I totally expect others to go on with their lives and I in no way expect people to constantly remember tough anniversaries. I guess I just wish I felt I had permission to talk about it if I wanted to? But maybe that’s what this space is for.
This is a very rambly post.
I don’t expect any of you to solve my issues or drama. I don’t even necessarily expect you to understand. I’m definitely not looking for more sympathy– you’ve all given me more than my due of that during the truly raw times.
But I opened my TimeHop this morning.
And I remembered a time when I’d imagined my life being so very different right now.
And maybe that’s just a little harder than I expected.