When is this ride gonna be over?

I’ve never voiced these concerns out loud.  I know that some people will tell me that they are stupid worries, or useless worries, or concerns that are pointless.  There was nothing I could do.  Gabbie was going to leave or not and there is nothing that I should or should not have done that could have saved her.  But nevertheless these concerns still swirl inside my head.
I’ve been told that reaching above your head can cause the cord to wrap around the baby’s head.  I reached anyway. 

What if exercising more could have made me gain less weight, and less water, making her have less room inside to move?  I couldn’t bring myself to exercise much at all, I was always so tired.

What if eating better could have done the same thing?  I ate whatever I wanted.

I wonder sometimes if I’d missed signs that warned me that something was wrong.  Maybe I should have been more observant and less “this is my third baby, I know most of it already” attitude.
They say you shouldn’t lift too much.  I disregarded this and did whatever I felt I had to do. 

Was I somehow not going to make a good mother of 3 right now? 

Are these all just selfish thoughts? 

Maybe she was just going to have a poor quality of life and to keep her from hurting the angels came to take her. 

I’m sorry if I’ve done something that made the cord wrapped around her neck tighten.  I’m sorry if I didn’t notice something I should have.  I’m sorry if I’m expected to have moved past this point in grief, I’m writing these thoughts down so I can move on to other thoughts.  I’m sorry if looking at others' babies or hearing about how beautiful they are makes me have a pang of jealousy.  I’m sorry if hearing a baby cry makes me sob because I so miss that sound.  I’m sorry if when people talk to me I seem distracted.  I’m sorry that I get angry so easily.  I’m sorry if I don’t have patience for minor annoyances.  I’m sorry if I’ve done something to cause this, or not to stop it. I'm sorry I'm grasping for butterflies.  I'm sorry I want to see her everywhere.  I'm sorry if I cry over spilled milk.  I'm sorry if I want to walk forever, as if I walk far enough I could out distance the grief.  I'm sorry if the thought of going back to work makes me want to scream. 

I feel as though I’m being punished in life right now.  The house sale is causing so much angst, and stress and doesn’t seem to being going in our favor at all.  I have no idea where or when we’ll be moving if at all.  I have no idea where Sky will be going to school.  I have no idea what literature I’m teaching next year and the list is still not available so that I feel very unprepared.  I can’t keep my house clean and feel inadequate as a mother and wife.  Gracie is so nasty lately and I’m totally at a loss as to why.  She frequently lashes out at us and everything I try to do to fix it seems to make it work.
 My car feels like it’s a way for the universe to poke fun at me.  The seat won’t move anymore so that Derek can’t drive it (poke).  There is a hole in the floor of the driver side that threatens to swallow any high heel shoe I might wear (poke poke).  The window/door seal in the back leaks and causes the interior to stink if it’s a wet season.  The dashboard lights and gauges all blinked out the one day and may do so again at any given time (poke poke poke).  The radio has literally caught on fire and burned out so that now when Gracie has a fit I HAVE to listen to it.  In addition, now any drive anywhere is soundless except to listen to any possible creaks and coughs the car might make to cause me more worry (Whole Handed Poke).  The shocks are long gone and now driving down the street is like bouncing on a water bed.  

Nothing seems to go right.  

I’m just so stressed, and so sorry.  For everything I’ve done, or haven’t done to make it all so awful.  This year just continues to drone on.  And on. And. On.

I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.  

I'm not looking for pity.  I don't want eye rolling or heavy sighs.  I'm just so tired of stepping in crap and not being able to see it coming or to clean it off my shoe.  I try to roll with it but do you know how hard it is to "roll with it" when it rolls for months? 

Or maybe it's just me whining.  Sigh..... what-the-frick-ever (said in total resignation).  It's my hand right?  I can't fold it, I'm already all in.  A dozen eggs.  One basket.  I just wish this part of this ride would get over so I can open my eyes again, quit hanging on for dear life and count how many eggs I have left.