Confining yourself to bedrest, though worthy, leaves you with a lot of think time.
That's never been a good thing for me. Too much think time, that is...
So, to combat the thinking time, I've been reading, reading, reading. (Surprise, I know.)
And honestly, as I face a really, really, really big decision today (and am sick to my stomach about it), I've realized why I'm so anxious (well, one of the reasons) about it.
(Still wondering about the big decision? Well, you probably already know, and if you don't will in about a week or so. See, I don't always put everything out there...though I really get aggravated when people ask me why I'm so "Out There" with information. If you don't like how out there I am with it, stop reading it. I will not be one bit offended if you de-friend me. I'm out there because the internet and blogging and Facebook allow me to actually remain a part of the world, even when I don't necessarily feel like it. I can engage if I want, respond to an email or message if I'm up to it, be encouraged constantly, and not be any more drained than I already am. I am open about information because I figure that the more people I have praying for me and supporting me, the better. Besides...I feel alone. Even when I am not and know I am not, I feel alone...so the more pieces of me that I share, the less, I hope, I feel alone.)
See....I'm tired just from writing that whole long paragraph.
But in this, I've found, I am NOT alone.
It's said all over the internet, and I've said it myself.
To mother a dead child is exhausting.
And I'm going to go out there and say it's the hardest job I've ever had. I realize that I may be offending many, many moms who are obviously hardworking and tired, and that's not my point. My point is that when your child is dead, you are no less a hard-working mother, but you don't get any of the credit for it. Because no one really sees it as a job, seeing as the job description is so, so drastically different.
A mother of a living child is up at all hours of the night feeding her little one.
I'm up all hours of the night because I can't believe this is my life...I keep hoping that THIS time...THIS time, I'll wake up and it won't be true.
A mother of a living child has to change clothes out each season and go through the hassle of having to shop for more because their little one is just growing like a weed.
I go into Matthew's nursery, pick up all the sweet little outfits he had....put them on my shoulder as if he was in them and rack my brain trying to imagine what it would feel like to have him in that outfit.
A mother of a living child constantly wipes the tears off her little one when he or she is unhappy.
I either am exhausted because I try not to cry or because I've been crying all day. I run out of tissue.
A mother of a living child engages in fun conversations about the best diapers or what coupons are out for Babies R Us or homemade recipes for Playdough.
I have conversations with billing specialists, doctors, cemetery directors, God...none of them very fun ...or dear, sweet friends who do their best to walk that fine line of not forgetting Matthew but having 'normal' conversation every now and then....talk about tiring--for me AND for anyone who talks with me.
A mother of a living child gets tired of all the running around.
I get tired trying to escape the memory conjured every where I go.
A mother of a living child has nightmares of what may happen.
I have nightmares about what has happened already and inevitably, will happen again.
A mother of a living child may be exhausted at the end of every day, but she can walk into her child's room and know it's all worth it.
I am exhausted at the end of the day, and every day....the crib is empty. My heart is still broken.
And it never changes.
So, when you look at me and think, "Wow, she looks tired," you are right. (Of course, I'd rather not have the guy in the A&W Rootbeer workshirt standing behind the counter at the gas station actually TELL me that I look tired, but...he's only going by what he is seeing.)
It may seem like a "no-brainer, just suck-it up, it'll be good for you, you'll be glad you did it and so will they" decision, but it's not.
It's work. And I'm tired.