I've now written as many blog posts in the last 48 hours about my miscarriage as I did during the two months I was blogging the pregnancy.
And I feel guilty that I didn't have as much to talk about during that time as I do now. It's as if this is more important to me than that was.
It's so not. I wish I had written more so I would have more details of being happy to reread now.
But I talk and write about negative things to get them out of my head. It takes it away from me. And I keep the good stuff to myself because I'm selfish that way. So I kept that good stuff to myself and now I'm having trouble accessing that good stuff that I want to remember and relive. Probably sounds ridiculous considering how much I did write.
And right now, I simply have nothing to do. I don't have a day job to go to. I can't do my one distraction hobby (pottery) because I can't hunch over my stomach at the wheel and I'm not allowed to do any lifting. It's the biggest holiday season of the year so there's nothing on tv and going out in public means being faced with all those children that would normally be in school or daycare. And those kids are so riled up and sugared that even if there aren't more of them out there, the ones that are out and about are more hyper and impossible to ignore. And I don't have any social distractions because I've spent the last 6 weeks trying to rebuild a social structure after the trauma of the mama drama.
So I'm writing. And writing. And crying. And writing. It passes the time. And time is something I have way too much of right now.
And I still have a dozen topics in my head that I feel I want to get out tonight.