I have been in such a low place for the last couple of days, and social media just makes it worse– yet like a car crash, I just can’t look away. So I’m just going to keep doing this to myself, I guess. Sigh. Pregnancy announcements, gestational month countdowns, ultrasound pictures, pictures of growing bellies, pictures of toddlers wearing “I’m a big brother/sister” appliquéd shirts, pictures of new babies all filling up my feed and making it impossible to focus on anything other than the fact that I’m supposed to be pregnant right now. I’m supposed to be the annoying poster on instagram who is oversharing pictures of my adorable baby bump with a whiny caption like “beached whale status, gah I’m pregnant AF lol”. I wish I was still pregnant. I wish to God I was still carrying sweet baby James. The point of this post was not to whine, so I’ll move on.
For those of you who have experienced miscarriage or infant loss, you know that the grief and depression that go along with it can be all-consuming, and the clock just seems to stop for you– everyone else moving on with their lives happily while you are stuck wallowing in an eternal hell hole. That’s the only way I can describe it. I feel like each day takes five times as long to go by, and I feel so guilty for feeling this way because I know I should be appreciative of what I have. Y’all, it’s hard. Being a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) has always been my dream job. That being said, it’s not an easy job. When things are going well, I feel like I’m super woman, and I am ready to tackle anything. Same thing holds true for when things are going badly, just in the opposite way. Days where everything seems to go wrong, and I just can’t get my shit together. I’ve had more of the latter lately, par for the course after experiencing a miscarriage, I guess.
As I sat on the couch wallowing in my misery, I hear my two-year-old whining. Nap time is over, so only a couple more hours until daddy gets home to tag me out (praise the Lord for an understanding and extremely hands-on husband) so I can catch a break and salvage what’s left of my sanity. I walk into the kid’s room, and see it. POOP. EVERYWHERE. Smeared on the sheets. Smeared on the crib rails. Smeared on the gorgeous Restoration Hardware bumper. And smeared all over the child– with special attention paid to the facial region, eyes, nose, mouth. GROSS. He proceeds to tell me he “did a stinky” and “it’s yucky.” Thanks kid.
I quickly gathered myself and snapped back into mommy mode. Grabbed the child, ran the bath water, removed the sheets/bumper/bedding, wiped the child down, let him play while the tub filled up, found the Clorox wipes, disposed of the mess, and got to work cleaning the mess and bathing the child. Well what do you know? For a few minutes, I was totally focused on being what my boy needed me to be, and I felt like my old self– no wallowing. Mothering done right. Thank God for distractions like this. Thank God for poop. With two boys under two and a half, I’m sure there will be no shortage of distractions in my near future, but this incident sure could not have come at a better time. God sure works in mysterious ways, doesn’t He?