When You Go It Alone

When You Go It Alone

Two toddlers doing toddler things. Toddling along. Today feels different. I feel different

Maybe I should check, you never know.

Holy fuck.

Panicking as I tell him that he’s going to be a father again

But, things don’t always go as planned, as they say

Weeks of bleeding, weeks of numbers that aren’t supposed to be that low, week of uncertainty

We see a little heartbeat.

Two weeks later, we see nothing. Nobody knows, not even my body

My body doesn’t make it easy. It never does

I can’t do this again. I can’t go it alone. I rock back and forth on my floor. Can’t sleep

What’s done is done but my body doesn’t know that. It never does

I share. It’s the only thing I know how to do well. Open book, as they say

“Be grateful for what you have” “Don’t think you are special, it really happens to a lot of woman”

Keep him to myself except on the day he died and the day he should have lived

Don’t talk about it

A baby can’t be born now. Not in this environment

But things “happen for a reason”. I hate that saying. It comforts only the voice who says it

“Will it stick this time?” “Wow, another one?” “Is he mad you can’t give him a boy?”

More bleeding. More low tests. Take this medication. Won’t do anything but maybe it’ll help

Nurse calls and said it’s not looking good. Most likely another miscarriage. Her words

Oh, but she had other ideas. Baby spitfire ideas. She’ll prove everyone wrong

Can’t eat, can’t drink. Maybe French fries will stay down?

“Are you seriously going to feed your baby French fries? You’re going to kill it!”

Ok, nothing but French fries and Pepsi’s stay down right now. I should have just kept quiet

Don’t talk about it

Four babies. Three Earth side, the other is free

A history of depression doesn’t bode well for this new mother

The first time was the worst. No one warns you about these things

The monsters that can lay within your mind, whispering cruel things

I see my babies faces everywhere I look, I can hear them but they are not really crying

It’s just in my head. Take these twice a day. If you want to hurt yourself, call us

4,556 ways they could leave this world fly past my eyes, every second of every day. Weeks

Never by my hands. Ever. Let’s make that clear

The second (but really third) time was a different beast

No visions this time, thank the Creator

But The Sinking

The feeling one gets when they only sleep three hours a day and they spend the rest of the time
comforting a colicky, screaming baby. Helpless I feel. A failure. I can’t feed her the “right” way

I’m worthless. Less than worthless. Would medication help this time? Nope, maybe next time

They’ll be no more next time. But we don’t know that yet.

You have to put on a smile. You have to post pictures and gush so you won’t be called ungrateful,
as least not for this

Isolated for a dozen hours a day. Any inclination you are having a hard time is unacceptable

Don’t talk about it

Time jump into the future. The kids have been sick, you’ve been sick. Postpartum is replaced

The house mess doesn’t do itself, there’s always something to get done

Food needs to be planned, bought, made, cleaned

“I don’t like that anymore” “This tastes like vomit” Just try ONE bite

Two night meetings this week leaves you alone, two nights of work, maybe I can read

Finally a moments peace. Go online and vent about stress. But be funny, do you hear me?

No one likes a whiner, a complainer, a nagging woman, an ungrateful bitch

Forget it I guess. No point in saying anything. Screaming into a wall seems like a better use of time.
At least the wall offers a cool touch to my hot head

Don’t talk about it

Swallow it down. Push it and bury it as far beneath as you can manage

Don’t let anyone see. They don’t want to see the dark gunk you hide

They want to see a bright cheery smile! Put some effort into your appearance maybe?

Maybe someone will want to fuck you if you didn’t eat your feelings and wear sweats

Just smile and wave. That’s what they want.

Don’t talk about it