A bad night

Last night was a bad night. Much crying.

I can't say it was for any particular reason. I was just, once again, hit with the overwhelming sadness and unfairness of it all. I was thinking of early mornings spent, hand on belly, being delighted by those fluttery kicks. Of how happy I felt the day I saw that positive pregnancy test. Of the visions of bunk beds. Of the many times people told me that three years apart was the perfect spacing for kids. Of the wonder of having the same due date for two pregnancies.

Gone. All gone.

Harper will be gone soon, too, and I literally cannot imagine what happens next. Returning to normal life?

One of the baby blankets we brought to the hospital has disappeared, and it is driving me nuts. It probably got soiled and was carelessly tossed in with the hospital laundry. But it's absence is inexplicably wounding me. As if not only can I not heal my child, I can't even keep track of her damn blanket. All around failure as a mother. I want to run around the hospital, searching for it, finding it. I want to bring it back to Harper bean and wrap her up and tell her, see, I can't make you better, but I did this for you. I did this.

I just want to stop crying. I am so sick of crying - the head aches, the swollen eyes, the runny nose, the gummy cheeks. The feeling that I can't make it stop.