Things I didn't realize

I didn't realize how important my self-serving rituals of exercise, organization, long dog walks, and meditation were until they were disrupted yesterday by Shea being home sick.

In some ways, it seemed nice to be home with Shea. Nobody needs their mommy more than vomiting, feverish little boys. (Actually, in my experience, this desire to reach out to mommy when sick extends into adulthood...) And Shea was requiring my full attention. "I need you to sit next to me, Mommy," my poor sick boy told me. "I want to 'nuggle."

But at the end of the day, when I'd had no outlet for the sadness and tension and numbness, I began to break down. I lost it when Lou was a couple minutes late to be picked up. I lost it during a movie scene where ashes were being spread in Udaipur (one of my favorite cities in the world.) I lost it when someone walked by with a newborn in a Bjorn. I lost it when Shea held up a picture of Harper and cheerfully told me, "Look, it's baby Haper. She died." - grinning with pride because he'd gotten the facts right. I lost it because I was just so damn sad about it all. I leaked and leaked tears.

Today was a better day.

I didn't realize how many friends and colleagues had experienced loss of a young child. A baby or young child dying is something that happens to other people. Something you read about in the Huffington Post parenting columns or see on a Lifetime movie. It is supposed to be rare, tragic in part because of its infrequency. Turns out this is a pain that a lot of people are living with. People we know. My heart breaks not only to learn of their loss, but of our ignorance of their loss. Everyone has been so amazingly supportive of our family; I want to be able to give that love back.

They have shared their stories and made me cry and given me hope that life goes on. And they make me want to be a much kinder, more understanding person - who knows what the people around us are going through or experiencing? It makes me want to hug random strangers because there are a lot of moments right now when I could use a hug, and I suspect there are others out there who probably feel that way, too. We are not alone. That makes me feel both comforted and dreadfully sad at the same time.

I didn't realize it would be so much easier to pack away the baby clothes than throw away the flowers. In some ways, I've already shed tears packing away those tiny little outfits. They were Shea's, and I mourn and cry (in a happy way) every time he goes up a size and I have to pack away those little, bitty clothes, a visible sign that someday my son will be too big to curl up in my lap and 'nuggle (or that some day he'll add the "s" back onto that word!) It did make me wonder about the etiquette of baby gifts for a baby who has died? Do we return them to the giver? Or pack them away in hopeful promise of another baby? (Shea looks at the baby things now and solemnly tells me, "Those are for a new baby who will come later.")

The flowers, on the other hand, I can't bring myself to deal with. Gorgeous arrangements sent in memory of Harper are wilting on my dining room table, like a scene from Miss Havisham's house, and I just don't want to throw them away. It just seems too final.

I didn't realize who read my blog until I mentioned I was having trouble finding a therapist and was suddenly inundated with kind referrals and recommendations. Thank you all, I really appreciate it! Progress has been made on that front...

I didn't realize how much I wanted a little girl until I lost one. Throughout my pregnancy, although I seldom confessed it out loud, I was on Team Boy. Before Shea was born, I was all about girls - I only have sisters and mostly male cousins, what did I know about boys?!? But after Shea came into our lives, I couldn't imagine anything more perfect than a little boy. I had visions of brothers sharing bunk beds. The night Harper was born, as we revealed the chromosome results were XY, Lou expressed disappointment we weren't having a little girl, as he had visions of walking her down the aisle some day and daddy-daughter dances.

 After Harper, I find myself attracted to very girly things. Tiny, frilly dresses. Stationary with delicate pink flowers. Sparkly shoes. Blonde ringlets and hair bows. Adorable tomboys in overalls. Maybe I'm not as on Team Boy as I thought...

Finally, I didn't realize that the Coffee House station on satellite radio would become the perfect soundtrack to my life. Acoustic, emo versions of songs and singer-songwriters who manage to make even the happiest songs sound sad and poignant. It fits my mood, and I can't stop listening to it.

An addendum...

I didn't realize stress can make your head itch! Seriously, this is a real thing. My scalp and face have been itching ferociously for no apparent reason. Apparently this can be caused by stress and anxiety, a physical manifestation of mourning. Who knew? It is immensely irritating. Literally.