I have officially left the house on two occasions, besides to the funeral home and the counselors' offices.
I have been to Ben's daycare twice now. I teared up walking in, thinking how my last time there, I was dropping Ben off on the way to my doctor's appointment. Before I heard the most devastating news. Back when things were normal. I miss that version of myself already.
I tried to look away from the infant room when I walked by.
So instead I noticed a sign on another classroom, congratulating a family who had just had a baby.
Another punch to the gut.
"Motherfucker," I thought.
And then comes the moment that I want to trade places with that family.
It's awful to wish some other baby dead. To wonder why it couldn't have been that baby instead of my baby.
That's a horrible way to think.
I hear it's normal.
I hope I pass this phase soon.
I hope I stop wishing it was other people's children instead of my own.
But I'm trying to be honest here.
It just feels so horribly unfair.
My mom and I also ran into Kohls to make a quick return. I just wanted to get in and out of there. Of course, when we get called up to the register, it was by the most annoying sales person alive. This woman asked me a dozen questions about my pregnancy a month ago. "When are you due? What are you having?" making all kinds of small talk when I just wanted her to hand my receipt so I could take my fussy son out of this store. I knew she'd make small talk again. I now officially hate small talk. So my mom goes up to her instead, and I duck out the door. "How are you?" she asks my mom. "Okay," my mom answers, which I feel like is overly generous at this point in time. "Just okay?" the woman continues.
My counselor says we can use the "my-baby-died" card at any time. It's a great way to make people feel uncomfortable. Part of me wished I had not ducked out the door so when she asked my mom that I could respond, "Well, my baby just died." That might shut her up for a while.
These trips out of the house are exhausting.