I should be

I'm not sure why I'm here today.

I feel as though I'm waiting today.  Or maybe sad.  Or tired (always tired even when I get decent sleep.  I mean she slept 6 straight hours the other night twice in a row but still I was so tired when the sun rose). Or maybe I'm troubled.  Pregnancy hormones attempting to return to normal leave a sort of deep emptiness.  I have her, my Evie, and she's healthy, and ok, and I'm thankful.  But somehow I'm still sad.  And anxious and short tempered. I can't explain why.  I know that I should be happy.  I have a beautiful family and a healthy little girl to hold.  Yet I look at her sometimes and cry.  She doesn't fuss and only cries when she's hungry or wants to cuddle.  She's easy. And beautiful. And healthy. So why am I sad?  Why am I waiting as if for something to happen?  Why do I have anxiety about things happening?  I'm afraid to put her to bed in her crib--- what if I don't hear her?  Or what if she leaves me in her sleep?  I'm afraid to leave her with a babysitter (even people I trust totally). I'm afraid to take a shower while Evie sleeps and G watches TV, I think of things that could happen while I'm in there (from one of them choking to a stranger coming in the front door and taking them) though I know most of the scenarios are so unrealistic, but what if? I find my patience to be much shorter.  Two times of saying something, anything, is one times too many and I get irritated.  I can hear how quick I am to be snippy but it's always too late to take back the harsh retort.  It's not all day nor all the time but it's often. 

I just feel off.  Off and sad and anxious and tired.  And I see all the things I missed with Gabbie and I feel robbed. I should be okay with that for now I know what I have. Shouldn't I be?  But I'm not okay with that. At all. What's wrong with me?  I feel like a zombie just going about the business of living; it's a business of breathing, eating, sleeping, and hopefully taking care of my family existence with a smattering of life mixed in. But I cannot remember the last time I really (and I mean really) looked forward to something with excitement and child-like anticipation. Nor do I think I even remember how to. 

the finality of never...

We went to the doctors today to have my staples removed.  On the way I asked D what birth control he thought I should go on if she asked.  He said none because he's going to go in and have a vasectomy so I don't have to worry any more.  He said we shouldn't have anymore.  And I'll be honest I don't know if I want anymore either: this pregnancy was so hard and the delivery nearly killed me. I will not take the risk of being lost forever to my girls for a chance to have another baby, or be so selfish as to make D worry like he did the past 9 months and even more the last two weeks. And seriously, the universe has been pretty adamant in its opposition: an angel in heaven because her cord was wrapped, a beautiful baby born who needed a puff of air because her cord was wrapped, the same scenario in both pregnancies with polyhydramnios, terrible pain, the worst recovery I've ever had, loss of half my blood volume, dangerous anemia, transfusion, fear, anxiety.

So I look at Evie and love her so far beyond words, and I look at the girls and feel so much luckier to have them than is describable, and I feel sad to think I'm done, that I'll never make anything as beautiful again.  I eat up my time with Evie holding her and being so needed by her knowing that the time is fleeting, and hanging with the girls is so wonderful. To think that I'll never be able to make another like them makes me sad.  It feels like I'm missing something by making that choice.  But how can I miss something that isn't even there, or thought of, or conceived?  And then I wonder if the sadness and "missing out on something" mentality is derived from the fact that what I'm missing is not what could be here but what never will be here.

It is not, nor will it ever be that I am not thankful for the blessings I do have.  I will never take them for granted.  Ever. It is more that now, that we're talking forever, it is a finality:  I will never make another beautiful baby, they are my greatest achievement, pride, honor, blessings, and love. And perhaps I had thought (though it was not a conscious thought) in some avoided corner of the former me, that having Evie would somehow help me find the same happiness that I lost when Gabbie left; but Evie is not Gabbie.  The happiness I get from Evie is Evie's happiness not Gabbie's.  Evie created a part in my heart that is all hers including happiness and sadness and pride and love.  So that means while I enjoy and revel in the happiness that my girls have been providing and that Evie has just created I am still deeply missing Gabbie forever.  And right now it's so obvious what I missed out on two years ago and am missing out on still.  A sob catches in my throat, the girls are sleeping cuddled up on me for an afternoon nap and the duality of my love for them and the sadness of never being able to share this love with Gabbie or any other baby ever again, now that that we're really talking about being done forever is.... heavy, like flying with the lightest and loveliest wings and carrying a ballast of the most tragically beautiful and heaviest sadness that I just will not put down.

I know that I cannot, should not ever even consider having another.  I just have to get used to the idea.  Change in all forms is so complicated.