On August 13, 2007 I received notice, via home pregnancy test, that my baby existed. A year ago today was the last day that I wasn't mentally consumed with thoughts, worries, plans, or a sorrow beyond imagination, with that tiny being. I wonder what I used to think about. A year ago I never would have conceived I would be here - struggling to reclaim a sense of worth and success, mourning a lost baby and a waning marriage - after having joined the ranks of those with horror stories for pregnancy outcomes (you know, the people of statistics since no one actually knows someone whose baby actually died).
What would I tell my self of a year ago who had no clue that a nightmare was tip toeing up right behind her? It would be "My Dear Girl, you have mere hours of blind bliss left, enjoy these moments of being young and carefree". A year ago I would have argued about that carefree bit since my cares started rather early in life; who knew those were relatively lighthearted days.
What I would give for thoughts from my self a year from now. Next August 12 will I be remarking on how much beauty and joy has entered my life or will it be another shell shocked statement of "didn't see that coming"?
My current, this-very-moment self wishes to have told my self of this morning to pack some mascara since the earlier application was destined to be cried off in the bathroom at work. Awesome. Lately I've been trying to perk up since ... well you know ... the whole deadbaby thing ... so today I have on a perky outfit including hoop earrings, cute messy hair, and my new patent red Dansko's! And I started the day with the intention of doing something nice with a 8:45 appointment to donate blood. 45 minutes later I'm sent away with a finding of low hematocrit, two pricked fingers, and a crappy sticker saying how I tried to give blood today. That failure at doing something kind has me really bummed out for some reason.