What to do with myself?

So the day is finally here.

Is the anticipation worse than the day itself? Hard to say, but I am feeling pretty shitty. One thing I will be glad of though, is the end of the onslaught of bullshit Mother's Day advertising.

The bullshit on tv.
The bullshit in the papers.
The bullshit in my letterbox.
The bullshit at the shops.

I am glad, at the very least, that is over again for another year.

I think I am mad, mostly. Mad that for the second Mother's Day in a row, I am thinking "well at least I have something to look forward to". Do I? Because last year I was really, really looking forward something, instead life chewed me up and spat me out on planet grief where everything was totally unfamiliar and uncomfortable. And it was a one way ticket. Is that all I have to look forward to again? At almost 11 weeks in to this new pregnancy, I am having a very hard time believing this baby will actually live. I'll probably kill it with my negative thoughts alone. I am trying, I really, really am but I can barely imagine it ending any differently. Five days overdue, four days of labour, pain like no other pain I have known, only to push her out - all eight pounds of her - dead. It is all I know, and I fear I'm headed there again. I don't know how to push these thoughts aside. I want to, I don't want to live out these next seven months with this crippling fear.

I feel like an ass for thinking this, as I realise being pregnant again makes me very lucky. I am in a place that so many others want to be. It is a good thing, I do have something to look forward to. And I am glad. It is just that I am having a hard time balancing the excitement and the fear.

And I'm pissed off, that on today of all days, I have to sit here and think - do I go to the cemetery, or do I not go to the cemetery? Not, I wonder what my adorable nine month old baby girl would like for lunch today? Not, gee wont Nanna be happy to see her granddaughter again today for her first Mother's Day as a grandmother.

I am snuggled up in bed, laptop in my lap, full up from pancakes cooked and delivered to me by the best man in the world and warm under my new heated throw rug, also a gift from the best man in the world, for my "first" Mother's Day.

I am angry that this is my life. I think of all my "real" Mother friends out there getting kisses and cuddles from their babies and children. I especially think of those on their first. The first time we experience anything with a pregnancy or new baby is always very special, and all my firsts are now destined to be shit. The pregnancy itself was of course blissful, but now it all feels like a dream. I look at those photos of myself so happy and so sure and I'm still in such disbelief it turned out like this.

I am too scared to even go outside today. Too scared to go to the florist to pick up some flowers for my daughter's grave, if I do get up the courage to go, too scared to go to any shops or restaurants. Too scared to see any signs of happy people enjoying life. I am scared to go to the cemetery, too. Wondering if people will ask me if I'm there to visit my Mother. Nope, my baby. My firstborn. My only child. The one who died. The one who seemed least likely. The one who beat all the odds to die.

I have been warmed by the few people who have contacted me today via text or email. Every time I hear from someone though, while I am grateful, I am also bitter. Today isn't the only day I am sad. I am sad every single second of every day, Yet as the days, weeks and months go on, I hear from less and less people these days. Just a fact of life I guess. It is nice to hear from people on this day as I can assure you if she was born alive and well, I would not expect to hear from anyone. Mother's Day would be for me and my baby and that's all that would matter. But she's not here. And I want recognition for this hell I am going through damn it. It is just that when I get it, I also get a lump in my throat. Yes, I am still sending out mixed messages. No wonder people don't know how to act or what to say around me.

Why does this have to be my life? How did I end up here? How do I live the rest of my life with this huge cloud of darkness and grief over my head? And how will I ever fully enjoy days like this in the future, as she'll always be gone. My family will always be incomplete. Even if I go on to have six more babies, she'll always be dead. I'll always spend this day wondering, "should I go visit my firstborn at the cemetery today? Should we take the other kids to visit their big sister they never got to meet?"

I don't feel close to her anymore. I don't know I ever did. I don't think she's an angel, and fuck that's her middle name. I don't think she is safe in heaven or playing with other babies. To me she just feels gone now. So very gone. I hate when I start thinking like this. I have tried to find new beliefs to keep me going through this, but it is hard. 29 years of thinking one way, then everything you once knew and believed in doesn't seem right anymore. I don't want her to be gone, nothing. But I find it hard to believe that it is any other way sometimes. I want to feel her. I want to be able to hold her close in my heart, but it all seems so hard. She's so gone.

That's the thing with a stillbirth I guess. As much as I thought I knew her when she was inside me, as much as I had grand plans for her once she was here, I don't know her. I know nothing about her. Not the colour of her eyes, nothing. I'd never had any other children before, so I never could imagine just how sweet that moment would be when she entered our lives. Everything is so unknown in a first pregnancy and there was so much I didn't know. I didn't even know her sex. I knew nothing about her and nothing of what was ahead. Then it was tragically all too late. This is how it will always be. I will never know.

So this is hardly my most eloquent post. There is no light or sunshine here. No happiness, and not much hope for my future, when there is plenty to be hopeful about. And I'm sorry.

I will probably come back and delete this one as this bitterness and jealousy doesn't do me or anyone any good, but it is honest. And if I can't be honest here, I'm not sure where I can.

If my baby could hear or see me today, I would tell her this.

I love you. I miss you. I want you back. I want you back. I want you back. Please come back. I'm so sorry.

Wishing all my babyloss friends out there, much peace today on Mother's Day, especially those of you without any little people to give you a reason to get up today, those of you celebrating your first. May Mother's Day 2010 give us all a reason to get out of bed.