|not hiding the mom belly. don't care.|
We had a reservation for Sunday evening, December 5, 2010.
It's rather obvious, now, that we didn't make that dinner reservation.
After coming home with an empty carseat, we didn't know what else to do but reschedule that dinner reservation and celebrate Andrew's dad for being born anyway. We couldn't find anything else more important to do.
I was swollen, bleeding, and we were defeated. I wore this sweater for the first ever to that dinner date. I felt so ashamed for having a dead son and failing him. That my body failed him. I wanted to hide all parts of myself that resembled being a woman and especially a woman who was ever pregnant. I remember having a hard time finding something to wear. It had to fit the full criteria of being something: I did not wear while pregnant with him, fit over my swollen belly and didn't look horrible, and was not maternity branded. I hated the thought of wearing anything I'd worn while happily pregnant while in mourning and it took me a long time to be okay with that during Benjamin's pregnancy. Luckily, I borrowed most of the maternity wear while pregnant with Andrew, so they were returned to rightful owners as soon as I could get them out of my house. Not fast enough.
I was left with very little to chose from, so grabbed up this sweater and put it on. Maybe it was grief, but I hated the way it looked on me.
We had fondue. Some of the worst I'd ever had and I remember the very popular restaurant being packed, the dust that was stuck to the lampshade and fake flowers that decorated the poorly lit (romantic?) place. I remember the corner we stood while waiting for our table to open up and how I didn't feel like casually ordering a drink at the bar, though do remember drinking wine with dinner... because WHY NOT? I wondered how all those people could be celebrating and having Christmas get-togethers. I kind of thought they all knew what just happened to us and how I felt like my entire body was exposed. It was really cold outside, but part of me wonders if my grief made it feel colder. We valet parked. We rarely valet park.
I remember thinking it would be a terrible sweater to wear if I were a breastfeeding mom. And it is. One of the worst. Claire is down to three feedings in a day and I never feed her in public anymore, because she is fed around sleeping times. I picked that sweater up today and put it on. It felt just as wrong today as it did that evening. I wore it all day.
It's the last time I'll wear that sweater. I'll donate to the local consignment shop that supports programs that help victims of domestic abuse. Someone will buy it for $2 and wear it, having no clue how much emotion was underneath those fibers at one point. I'm glad to see it disappear.