Not much to say.

Some things are slowly getting a little easier - I went to Target today and only cried once in the car. I did avoid the baby section of course, but even the sight of a pregnant woman with baby clothes and a woman carrying a small infant boy didn't completely unhinge me.

I nearly lost it standing in front of Little Debbie snacks, of all things. I don't know why. It's not as if I eat them a lot or ate even one that I can remember while I was pregnant. It was just the same thing my husband said happened to him. I stood there holding a package of Oatmeal Pies and thought 'This will not bring him back.' And I teared up.

Still, better Oatmeal Pies than booze.

One of my rings came yesterday, the peridot ring. It is really lovely. I can't say that it brings me comfort, because I'd much rather have my baby boy with me still; his birthstone ought to have been garnet. But it's one way of keeping him near me all the time, for which I am grateful.

Things are harder in other ways. An unexpected call from work (not unreasonable at all) inquiring as to my return gave me a panic attack. Full on claminess, tightness in my chest, difficulty breathing. I called my husband in tears. I have no idea what the hell I will do Monday when I actually have to return. Start looking for a new job maybe. Doing what? No idea.

It's hard to care about much. There is just a lot that feels pointless right now.

I did screw up my courage to call a new OB to schedule my 6 week post-partum check. It was really hard to do, and I couldn't get in to see my first choice of the practice I called, but the OB I am seeing is reputed to be good. The staff member I scheduled with was pretty kind. A little baffled by the oddity of my request, but seemed to piece enough together to understand. I have to request all my medical records from my prenatal care and from the hospital. I have not yet gotten up the courage to do that. That is going to take a lot of energy, I think. I wanted to chicken out. To avoid an appointment at all, or just return to the OB I saw or the mw. But I can't. I don't trust them and I don't care to make small talk with them.

Seeing someone new is hard, given how few good experiences I've had. I already feel fear about lectures on my weight, on my choice to see a midwife, etc. But I need answers. About what caused the pre-term labor, how likely it is to recur in future, what testing we need done before we try again, how long we need to wait, what my care will be like in future, etc. Then we can make a better, more informed decision. We have a rough, loose plan in place, but neither of us can see going through this again. So if they tell me this is likely to recur or that it can't be prevented or it can't be known, we'll have to reconsider our current plans.

We've been told six months. In some ways that feels far too long, in other ways, not long enough. It's true that over the course of three pregnancies, I have been pregnant long enough to have a full term baby in the last year, but I don't. So I suppose some rest for my body is in order. And there are days I think 'never, ever again' because the pain is simply not worth it, the fear and anxiety are simply not worth it balanced precariously against a thin tendril of hope that this one might work out.

I have laughed some in the past two days. I think my husband has made it his mission in life to try and make me smile and his face lights up when I laugh at something outrageous he's said. So . . . this is it then, the point at which we start to move a little out of the darkness.

On the other hand, since our return, I am not sleeping well. To be fair, I was sleeping very poorly at my mom's house, but I chalked it up to barking dogs and an uncomfortable futon. Two nights here and the best rest I've gotten is from daytime naps, which will obviously cease to be an option on Monday. It's a mix of things. Nightmares plague me nearly every night, but not all night long. I get hot, then cold. I hear my husband breathing and his rhythms disturb mine. The cat complains about his atrocious lack of care (we don't rise immediately to procure him more tender vittles or refill his water bowl with cool, fresh water for the fifth time that night, and we are evil and keep the lids down on the toilet bowls), the dog is scratching and rattling his crate, or I am thinking about Gabriel. Maybe tonight I will try a sleep aid and see if it helps. I'm sure the naps are not helping, now that I'm nearer a normal schedule because DH is working.

There isn't much to add. I am drifting. This is the time I expect everyone says has to pass between devestation and a new normality.