But let's get real for a hot second here, mmkay?
In these 9 months, the following has occurred:
- I've collectively used more Kleenex wiping up snot and buckets of tears than I have in my entire life up until December 2010.
- I've definitely used more curse words to describe my superlative of sadness and grief and struggle with the hardships of ttc.
- I've dropped out on lots of friendships (at least for now) because I'm a completely selfish person who can't think past her own grief to ask how the heck someone else is doing in their life.
- I've spent days and days watching more TV than I've watched ever.
- I've questioned God, his existence, his love for us and all things I've ever believed in before tragedy struck.
- I've been unmotivated and drab.
- I've all but given up on my appearance most days-- taking great effort to look presentable.
- I've offended family members and probably friends with my rage and lunacy
- I've avoided phonecalls and door knocks.
- I've lost most of my carefree personality and have definitely transformed into a downer who can't even smile when looking at the innocence of a baby-- because instead I'm oozing with jealousy.
So it's not all pretty over here. It's beautiful that our son has spurred so much love inside of us that's passionate and fierce, but I was kind of hoping that passion and ferocity would be used to say, potty train him or something. Turns out all milestones are a wash and our sadness lives on through the ebbs and flows that it is. It's a brutal beast that gets the best of us. But it's out of love. How love can translate through all of this madness and ugliness is beyond my comprehension.
Loving our little boy just as much today as we ever did. Nine months little man. Can't even believe it. And I really don't want to.