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So sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open. Maybe psychological, maybe Percocet-related… maybe both. Straightened the house today with Bobby’s help. He was able to work from home, which I was oh so grateful for. It was good to not be here alone – the house was still a disaster from this past weekend, so we neatened each room. I removed all remaining baby items – ultrasound pictures from the fridge, pregnancy books from the bedroom, numbered weeks from the calendar. Regretted writing the weeks in ink – pencil was my first instinct and I should have listened. Still doesn’t quite seem real – so many of my thoughts each day were consumed by that tiny being, and now, there’s a void. “Void” – that is quite a small word for something that is so damn overwhelming.

The follow-up exam and pre-op appt are scheduled for Thursday at 10:40am. I pleaded for a D&C appt on Thursday as well – just get it over with – but Dr Hearn only does surgeries on Fridays. So 8:30am Friday it is. Will have the day to recover, then Mama’s family from Virginia arrives Friday night (I think… maybe, hopefully, Saturday morning?). I never told them about my pregnancy – was going to wait until the 8-week heartbeat was confirmed. Am not sure how to spin the surgery… don’t want them to know I’ve miscarried again. I don’t want to deal with their comments – “God has a reason for everything.” “God never gives us more than we can handle.” And my personal favorite: “God needed another rose for his garden.” I feel like stabbing someone with the nearest sharp object when I hear my grandmother repeating that inane, empty bullshit again and again and again. It comforts her – I know it does. But it makes me feel homicidal, which I don’t think is quite what she’s going for. So I’m going to give some vague description of a fertility-related procedure… they already think that something’s “wrong” with me, so I’m sure that’ll work just fine. After all, something HAS to be wrong with any female in our family who’s having problems fulfilling her sole purpose – to marry and replenish the earth. Bitter much?… perhaps sleep wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Was steamrolled this afternoon by the realization that Mama won’t be there on Friday. How do I continue to be crushed by the same fact, the same set of circumstances, again and again? She’s been gone a year – and yet her absence this coming Friday seems as tragic as if she just left yesterday. It hit when Bobby suggested that his mom stay with me after the procedure while he’s teaching his Clemson class… I started crying and said that I wanted MY mother, not his. I know it’s a relatively common procedure, but not for me… and I want Mama here. I can imagine her sitting next to me, patting my hand and saying “It’s ok, sweetie, it’s gonna be ok.” I’m 30 years old, a grown woman, but there’s still a scared little girl in there who really, really wants her mama. Just need to put my mind in neutral and go through the motions. It is what it is. All the crying and pity-parties in the world won’t fix it… I know that.

Tomorrow, assuming that my lower half is still connected and not hanging by a shredded abdominal muscle (which seems to be an imminent possibility every time the Percocet wears off), I’m going to do things. Going to exchange my maternity clothes, which I had the forethought to leave the tags on, for a few basic work essentials that actually fit. Am going to apply for a part-time job at a charming little shop in historic downtown Anderson called the Berry House. I may even get my hair done if Lisa Wonder-Woman can work me in – my roots are shocking. Don’t know if I’ll actually accomplish any of these things… but the mere act of planning something gives me something to think about besides the fact that I’m still storing a dead baby. Makes me want to vomit. Yes, some sort of action is definitely necessary.

Tomorrow is Maggie Denise’s first birthday. One year old… so hard to believe. She’s such a gift – a perfect little specimen of how right things can be. So tomorrow night is Maggie night… amidst all the yuck, I’m truly looking forward to her little family celebration… have been hoarding her gifts in my closet for weeks. Maybe she bite me to say thank you – that’s her new favorite trick. Charming, no?