I wrote this over on Babble, because I wanted to. I didn’t want to rehash it here again, or write it twice, so it’s there. Maybe for an audience of women who don’t know that someone else feels the same way as them. I’ve been terrified to write it, quite honestly some of the comments/emails I’ve gotten lately have put a damper on me wanting to share the other (not so lovely) side of this pregnancy. But I wrote it anyway because it needed to be said. I’d love if you’d go over and read, but understand if you don’t. 

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It’s mostly at night. The nightmares that come with a pregnancy after loss haunt me unexpectedly, at random times. I’ll wake, gasping for air, still partially caught in the unconscious of sleep.

Perhaps the dream is of my water breaking. So I’ll lay very still, convinced if I don’t move, it won’t happen. Had I not gone back to the bathroom when I lost my twins, maybe I wouldn’t have lost them. I could have just held it in. As irrational as that is (and I know it) in the dark of the night it seems completely sane. So I don’t dare move. No matter how bad I have to pee, the terror of going through a loss all over again paralyzes me.

Until I finally am able to wake fully, and firmly tell myself that, water breaking or not, I’m going to have to get up at some point. I make myself throw my weight off the bed in an effort to shake the fear. Push it away. If it happens, I tell myself, it happens. Get over it.

Read the rest on Babble.

Yes.

You read that right.

Just don’t tell this crazy chick from 2 years ago. She might throat punch me.

As we near the end of our stay here, there are things in nearly 2 years that I’ve grown to love and become used to about this place. I’d have never thought that any part of me would be sad to move. While I’m beyond excited to head to North Carolina and TREES AND GRASS AND WATER – I’ll never think back on this place as one I hated.

After those first few months.

So here’s my list so I don’t forget:

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I don’t know why this little spot has become so hard for me to write in lately. I sit and stare at this screen, thoughts racing of, “You’ve already said/written that. No one wants to hear it again. Move on. It’s been a year.” I am only able to write one day of the hospital story because the others are still overwhelming to process.

And yet…

One week from today is the day my water broke with the twins. The day my life changed forever, and yet there was still more of that to come.

I saw my therapist this past Friday and as we chatted about how I was doing and our little boy (now 22 weeks!), I struggled with this feeling that seems to underly all my emotions lately.

“I’m so tired of grieving.”

Instantly the guilt poured down on me. I explained (although she knew) that it wasn’t that I was tired of my sons or their story, but I was tired of the rest. The constant struggle to get past these thoughts and memories that still bring a lot of heartache. I wish somehow the grief process could be sped up – and I’ve wished that since I lost them. Like you just wake up one day and can think about what you lost without it smacking you in the face or causing you to have to re-process it all again.

There are days like that. More and more. It’s just soooooo slow and in the meantime there is a part of me that would like for this to be over.

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So Friday I wrote on the last bit of my Hope post on how I’d be joining up with NapTime Diaries and The Tiny Twig (among others) for #analogweeked. Friday night-Monday morning it’s a conscious step back from social media to spend more time with family, writing, reading, etc.

I always want to know how someone did with these things since follow through isn’t one of my top ten best qualities. Especially online. So I decided to share mine.

Friday evening after Sam got home, I thought about what a social media break meant to me. The obvious were no Facebook or Twitter. And no Instagram. I wasn’t sure what else since there isn’t a ton more, so those were the three. I rarely use LinkedIn or Pinterest.

Facebook just annoys me lately, so that one was easy. If I got on my computer I didn’t open a tab, and last month I deleted the app off my phone.

Twitter I use more to publish posts and IG photos than “chat” – so pretty simple to avoid it. I also had deleted it off my phone.

Instagram was a problem. I changed the settings to not alert me of new comments, but the app itself I didn’t want to delete only to reinstall Monday. The app and the use of Instagram at all go hand in hand.

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The car brakes sharply in front of me, and I glance up from the side mirror as I try to merge over just in time to swerve and miss hitting it. 60 mph on the freeway, that would have left some damage. My heart races and my hands are clammy as I pass by shaking my head. Under my breath I mutter, “Thank you God for protecting me.”

And then resentment pops up. Why didn’t God just prevent the entire thing? Why even have the car brake, or be there at all? Was that necessary and why? So I’d say thank you? Or be reminded I’m not in control?

Yeah. I know that. Believe me.

As time passes from the loss of Preston and Julian and the poor hospital treatment that left me shaken to the core, I find my unquestioning faith in God having a plan become entangled with, “Why did it have to happen at all?”

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