The Worst Part


The worst part is unsubscribing to the 57,000 email lists and reminders I’ve signed up for in the last two months.

The worst part is feeling myself leak like a sieve and thinking irrationally that I’ve pissed myself.

The worst part is wearing a maxipad like a twelve year old and remembering how the damn things work. Then disposing of them. It’s gross.

The worst part is this overwhelming rage. And the sudden need to break something. And then realizing there’s nothing to break.

The wort part is this cramping that I can’t do anything about. Because I can’t take a bath for two weeks. And the only thing that relieves the cramps is a two hour bath.

The worst part is my pants still don’t fit quite right.

The worst part is hearing “God has a plan.”

The worst part is the guilt.

The worst part is the months and years of waiting waiting waiting waiting… It was supposed to be over now.

The worst part is Monday morning and going back to work.

The worst part is the crying everyone else is doing over this.

The worst part is not being able to curl up in my mom’s lap and cry and cry and cry.

The worst part is feeling completely inarticulate.

The worst part is being a member of this club.

The worst part is not identifying with anyone or anything I read online.

The worst part is not knowing if this is denial.

The worst part is knowing this would happen.

The worst part is knowing this is how this adventure would end.

The worst part is knowing no way it could be this easy. No way I get this lucky. No way this ends well.

The worst part is not knowing how to help my poor sweet husband.

The worst part is fighting tears during not so random songs on the radio.

The worst part is no longer feeling empowered.

The worst part is being the center of all of this sad attention.

The worst part is putting on a brave face because I don’t want to cry anymore.

The worst part is feeling like I should just be over it already.

The worst part is this feeling of defeat.

The worst part is being bloated and feeling deflated at the same time.

The worst part is the whole fucking thing.

 

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6 thoughts on “The Worst Part

  1. I know you don’t want to hear “I’m sorry” right now, but I really am. It’s been a year of two losses for me while watching everyone else have their babies. Everyone says it will happen when it’s supposed to, maybe it will, maybe it won’t, but don’t give up and know there are people who care and lots of others who have went down this path before. I’m sorry, and it’s ok to cry as much as you want to cry. Wish I could give you a hug. Prayers for you and your family.

    • Michelle, I hate that for you. I really do. I can barely process one, much less two. I’m so sorry that we can’t sit and cry and drink together.

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