A couple days before Lydie died, I took the afternoon off. I left Ben in daycare, and I spent the afternoon doing things I wanted to do - which was mainly things to get ready for Lydie.
I planned to take a vacation day the day before my scheduled c-section too. Justin asked what I would do, and I said, "whatever I want!" He teased me that that means vacuuming and cleaning, and I said at least we'd have a clean house when we brought Lydie home.
I was pulling Ben out of daycare for 7 months (7 months!) and I'd be home with my toddler and my newborn... I knew the time to myself was limited.
Now the time to myself seems endless. I'm not working - I can't imagine being able to work right now. Justin has to work. I'm taking Ben to school, to keep him in the routine and because it can't be good for a one-year-old to stay at home all day watching his mother cry. And because I'll be back at work way too soon, I really couldn't pull him out anyway so we're paying for it regardless.
This morning, I watched all the other parents when I took Ben to school. They're all in their work clothes, in a hurry to get out there and into the office. I'm in my sweats - I can't stand the idea of real clothes and I'm certainly not about to put maternity clothes on. I'm in my sweats, on dressy days, yoga pants, dropping my son off so I can go home and think about the life I should be living right now. How I should be dropping Ben off, rushing to work, feeling Lydie kick all day there, and counting down the days (9) before she arrives. Finishing up all our last-minute things before baby #2 is here.
Instead, I come home and I make tea and I stare out the window or stare at this blog or think about how I should get enough energy to write back to a friend or plan the memorial. And I think about how things should be.
How they should be. Could be. Would be.