Faking it

I have become a master of pretend. A champion of faking it. But at this stage of my life, I feel I have to.

Angus has thrust me back in to the world of normal. From the outside, I look like so many others. 30-something, living in middle suburbia with my new baby boy. I stay home to look after the baby and Daddy goes to work and earns the money so we can all eat at night and pay the bills. Nice little house, a good car that runs well and the pesky dog. How very lovely. And lucky.

But I don't feel normal. Not even close.

Sure, what is normal anyway? I know though, it isn't this. It isn't having your first child dead. A child who wasn't even sick. A child who was perfect in every way. But I have to act normal, so I can fit back in to society. Because I need to function in this world. Angus is here, and somehow, I need to fit in again. I owe it to him, as his mum. He can't grow up with a mum who sits inside and mopes all day. Just as I did for the six months I waited to get pregnant with him and the nine months I carried him.

It has nearly been two years. 20 months actually. Today. Funny how I always feel a pull back to the keyboard right around the 19th. It just keeps happening like that.

But I realised on the weekend just how much time has passed and just how different I have become. I was out in our street, mixing with the neighbours at a house auction just up the road. Many of them were chatting amongst themselves. I had Angus strapped to my chest and I attempted to blend in. But I really just felt like I was standing out.

They all know me. Not just as the girl who lives in the white weatherboard place at the top of the street. But as that girl. That girl whose baby died.

For the best part of two years now, (and I have lived in this house for almost three years) I have avoided them all. I have walked out my driveway and turned the other way. I have scampered up to the letterbox in the cover of darkness to collect my mail. I have crossed the street to avoid talking to them. Seeing them. Interacting with them on any level. Because I just felt so different. But now. Now I am just like any of them. I have a baby here. And for Angus' sake, I need to try and start fitting in again. And it has been hard.

I'm also now in an interesting situation where I have a small, new group of friends from the local mother's group who have only known me since Angus was born. Primarily, they see me as Angus' mum. They know about what happened to me. They know there was a baby who came before. They even know her name. But that's not who they see me as. They just see me as Angus' mum. And yes, as the one who walked a rough path to get to motherhood but mostly just as Angus' mum. The reason they mostly see me this way is, I almost can't bear to talk about the situation anymore. It has become so normal to me, but once in a while, it is nice to just shed the grief, and just be Angus' mum. Just be a little bit "normal". Not always be talking about the super sad story. My story is so horrific and it still horrifies me on a daily basis. Sometimes I need to push it away. Sometimes I need to try and believe it didn't really happen. To live in the bubble of denial. To just fit in. To just try and be happy. And again, it is so damn hard.

Then there is the love/hate relationship with my old pal FB. Yep, I'm back on it after a very long hiatus. I am finding my feet, slowly feeling comfortable sharing my life again and peering in on the lives of others. But there is so much there that can trip me up. Landmines around every corner. People commenting on other peoples' pregnancies is probably the big one. But I guess I pause. Breathe. Remember that what happened to me is the unlikely outcome. Remember that it is not normal for babies to die and certainly not the way mine did. And I smile and I try to fit in again. I try and find that happiness for others even when my own sadness from what I lost in both pregnancies (my baby in the first one and innocence in the second one) is never far from the surface.

With Angus here, I have been so busy. Busier than I have been in a long, long time. And not just because of the 24-hour a day feeding/changing/trying to get to sleep/entertaining the baby thing, but because I've all of a sudden become a social creature again. I go out. I mix with people. Old friends, new friends. Friends I had before I had Hope. Friend I met because I had Hope and friends I met after I had Angus. For 15 months the calendar had barely a mark on it. Now we're cramming more in to most days than I used to in a week.

But then there are some days, much needed days I might add, where Angus and I have a home day. A pjs-all-day kinda day. And then you look at the calendar and go "shit, it is the 19th again" and the melancholy kicks in. I can remember this day. This exact day two years ago. Tasmania. Salamanca Markets. Lots of bump stroking. Lots of smiling, inside and out. Warm autumn day. Bought lots of nice things for the baby. Met friends. Had our very last holiday before life would change forever. Life was very, very good. The best it would ever be, as it turned out.

Now, it is good again. Hell, I can even say I am happy. Angus is amazing, how can I not be happy? But so much of the time, for the sake of fitting in and functioning again and learning to live with my "new normal" I really do feel like I'm faking it.