A year or so ago, we went through a period of Spencer fibbing. I believe it was my sister who started the 'truth chair' with him. If we thought he was starting to tell a whopper, we would ask him to sit on the 'truth chair' and tell his tale. Thankfully he didn't have to make too many trips to the chair and he learned (hopefully) his lesson on fibbing. Sometimes if he doesn't like what he is told by myself, he asks me to sit on the 'truth chair'....
I guess this blog is my 'truth chair'.
Last week I started back to work doing half days. Slowly easing back in. I thought I was ready. Well I can't lie. I can't even try to lie. I was not ready.
The anxiety was the worse. It was a weight on my chest dragging me down and hard to breathe. My heart raced. It usually resolved on my drive back home. I would lay awake at night trying to sleep. The closer it came for my alarm to go off, I could feel that weight slowly increasing and my heart speeding up.
I hated the questions or the anticipation of questions. I tried so hard during my pregnancy to tell everyone who acknowledged my belly that Palmer would not survive. I did this to avoid answering questions when I came back from maternity leave. I did this for nearly 20 weeks. I did this to avoid the awkward questions of 'How is your baby?'. It was hard then, but it is harder now.
I am not sure if people did not believe Palmer's diagnosis or if they just didn't pay attention. Maybe they thought the doctors were wrong. Or that there would be a miracle. It is hard to hear "How is your baby? Is everything fine now with him?" or "Congratulations. How are your boys doing? Has it really been six weeks? So your new little one is six weeks now. I bet he is big." I can guarantee you there was an awkward silence followed by stammering on my end. How do you answer that? Even after re-explaining some still don't believe me. A blunt "My baby is dead" is all I can come up with at times. Terms like "passed away" bring confusion to some faces. It drained me mentally. The mental end wore me down physically.
After we discuss that indeed he did die, I usually hear the following: "Oh that is too bad. I guess it was just meant to be that way. You know, Gods will. I guess you can just have another one." or "Well at least you have one child that is alive. By the way, your hair looks great today." Alright. Some of this may be true on a few different levels, but this is the last thing I want to hear. I want my child healthy and alive and home with me. I want the sleepless nights. I welcomed them. I don't care if my hair looks great! I would be bald if it meant he was in my arms.
And now we move on to my weight. For the record, I just finished a Snickers ice cream cone before I started this blog. I ate yogurt for breakfast, lasagna and salad for lunch and for supper we went to Sonic where I had a New York hot dog, cheese tots and a root beer float. Yes I am eating. Yes I have lost weight. Has it been intentional. Yes. Am I self-destructing through grief? No. If you saw me before I was pregnant, you would know that I needed to loose weight. Aside from tonight, I am eating smarter, counting my carbs and proteins; basically following my pregnancy diabetic diet.
I also had issues with Spencer starting a new daycare. This had nothing to do with the care he was getting. I was so afraid of change. I do not like and do not deal well with change. It was out of my comfort zone. Have I mentioned that I hate change? But he fit right in and loves his new provider. He even cried one night because he didn't want to go home and there was never clinging "Don't go mommy!" moments in the mornings.
Life threw too much at me to handle at one time. I can recognize that. I can accept that. Thankfully I have an understanding boss. I am feeling a lot better with some things. Others will be a work in progress. For as much as I would like to sit at home, I can't. For now, just half days for a while. No one ever said things will be 'normal' in six weeks. I need to try to find a balance. Onward and upward...