I got stuck on Twitter today, reading articles about the loss of children. The perfect thing for a mother to read while PMSing, right? I cried over these other people's stories, of course, but it also made me realize something kind of horrible: I think the emotional pain I felt after my miscarriage was erased by the birth of my second son. That realization makes me feel like a monster.
When I started to miscarry, I was 9 weeks pregnant, and I don't think I had ever cried that many tears or sobbed so hard. I snapped at anyone who told me to "just try again", like it wasn't a big deal that my baby stopped developing inside me and died. Now, when I try to think of "my baby that wasn't meant to be" as we call it, I don't imagine an almost 2 year old running around, or fantasize about his or her life. Probably because if I had that other baby, I wouldn't have my sweet, little, fatso, eating machine, 17 month old, Elias.
Seriously, I just willed my hormonal self to cry about it just now, to mourn the loss that seemed to take a piece of my heart and soul at the time, and I can't seem to get there. I think I'm just in a happy place right now. I'm going to go with that, instead of thinking of myself as a psychopath monster.
I hope you all had a happy Pi Day!