Wednesday, May 14, 2014
I woke to Eden's hungry squirming. Although we've been working on getting her to sleep in her bassinet, I recalled that at about 4:30 in the morning I caved in and let her sleep on my chest. Since we've been home I've let her sleep with me every night.
It was a rough night. When I saw Marcos I had vague memories of him rescuing her sometime during the night. Once again I had fallen asleep while nursing her, and set her in the bassinet when I nearly dropped her. Marcos had to get her when her cries couldn't wake me from sleep. Most moms would tell me not to feel guilty, that it happens, but I do feel guilty because I shouldn't have let it happen.
After feeding Eden I was able to get her to stay quietly in her bouncer seat. I seized the opportunity to take a quick shower, at once relieved and frightened by her silence.
I am feeling blue but reluctant to admit it because the inevitable response will be that baby blues are normal, as if simply saying so makes the feelings go away, or makes them not real. I can't help feeling that my life is over, to which the common response is that life is just beginning. Still, I mourn the changes in the life I worked hard to build over the last few years. As the shower water poured over me tears escaped my eyes. But my new life permits little time for crying so I turned off the water.
Eden quibbled a bit when I emerged from the bathroom and I thought I missed my chance to have breakfast, but she soothed herself and I had a few more minutes. I fastened the charm bracelet that I have in memory of Baby Cude around my wrist. I wear it just a few times a year, generally in memory of the day I learned I was pregnant, Baby Cude's expected due date, or today. Today is the anniversary of the day the miscarriage commenced. Having a bowl of cereal seemed counterintuitive to my desire to simply sit and reflect on the bracelet's charms, but I had only a small window to eat before Eden would need something.
The last few bites of cereal remain in my bowl. Eden needed to be fed and burped. Soon, we will leave for the bank to open an account for the funds for Gabriel's run, to take place a month from today. I am now a very uncoventional mother of three, and all of their needs are different, but my time still somehow has to be split appropriately among them.
I'm overwhelmed. I've typed this blog almost entirely one-handed, knowing I should try to set Eden down, but unable to bear her crying today. I never want to give her a reason to cry, even though sometimes I've let her cry. I never want her to hurt, even though she will. When I think of the risks I took when I feel in love with Marcos, when I fell in love with Eden, I still feel the visceral ache of the losses before them. There are days when I feel myself building a wall between myself and each of them.
Almost three years ago I comforted my son in his hour of dying, just ten days after his birth. Every moment of my life since then has been informed by that experience. I'm still discovering the ways that I am affected by Gabriel's death, from the way I love to the way I resist my emotions. It's never been more obvious to me than on this day which Marcos and Eden have gifted me with, but which I am not sure how to accept.
Diaper changes. Feedings. Fussing. Cuddles. Tears. Bitter. Sweet.
It's just another day.
This is Day 11.