I’m longing for your heartbeat…

Saturday is my due date. Or would have been my due date. I’ve been so scared of its approach because I have so many unresolvable feelings.

I tried not to know my due date. I had asked in previous pregnancies not to be told because I knew the knowledge of the first one haunts me. I got a little too confident after I heard a heartbeat & let the midwife tell me. Then I made the mistake of setting my calendar to that date. Now I can never forget it.

It is sad & overwhelming for all the obvious reasons. I haven’t processed this grief. In that sense Saturday is just like every other day. I’m always thinking about this in some sense. Be it specific memories of the miscarriages or thinking about all the memories I’ll never make. Mostly, I feel lost.

Project post it

I am not entirely sure who I am anymore. I haven’t ever envisioned a life without children. I don’t know what to do now. I have to accept that my future can only ever be not quite enough. Moreover, becoming a mother has been my driving force. It’s the dream that kept me going when I wanted to give up. It was my inspiration to get stable & pushed me to pursue writing.

It’s very frightening to have your reason to fight melt away. It’s even harder to grieve the loss of this baby when it is such a crucial part of my big picture. I don’t know how to let go of that heartbeat.

I’ll be 39 next month and I have not a single clue about how I fill the rest of my life. A huge part of my identity was a mirage. I have a new reality. I don’t know how I learn to live in it.

Heartbeat on red background

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Words are (not) flowing out…

You may have noticed a down turn in blog activity. I’m struggling with a little writer’s block. Or big one. Even whipping this up is more tricky than I’d like.

I think my chronic indecision is the problem. I’m wrestling with a couple of Uber decisions and a whole host of related little ones. Trying to make all those choices correctly is eating up all my headspace. I am a tiny bit paralysed on the creative front.

Bear with me. I’m hoping I’ll the words will flow again soon.

My week in pictures…

It’s been a hectic week. I did some utterly lovely things & some necessary tedious things. Predictably by Friday is was unable to move. Still in recovery mode, but it was worth it.

I kicked things off with a wee hotel stay on Monday. My sis, the baba & I enjoyed a couple of days of chilling out (& carrying on) at the Westerwood Doubletree. The boy loved the pool and just like his auntie, he is a fan of a hotel breakfast. The grown ups did some relaxing and then undid it all by watching Chernobyl. Amazing tv, but quite possibly the most terrifying thing I have ever viewed.

Westerwood Hotel & Spa

I had to do a little trek to Gourock, which turned out to be a lot prettier than I remembered. Then hopped on the ferry to Dunoon, which although quaint was much less interesting than I recalled. I did however enjoy the fresh air & the (almost) sea air.

Gourock Dunoon Pier

Hump day saw me buzzing from hospital to hospital to attend various clinics. I had my first go at a new treatment, dome boring maintenance & a whole lot of waiting around. Such is spoonie life.

Iv treatment New southern general Glasgow

Ootd wise I seem unable to kick my yellow habit this week. Clearly I am seeking a little extra cheer; yellow tones fit the bill.

Ootd

Thursday I was back to rascalling with the boy. We did all our messages & fed some birds before checking out the suspension bridge. I used to be a little scared of them, but I’m so attracted to their splendour that I cowboyed up. The boy was delighted with all he could survey from the bridge. Ducks on the water, trains on the bigger bridge & especially our new tiger friend.

Suspension bridge, River Clyde Tiger street art

View from bridge, River Clyde

By Friday my body had decided it’d had enough activity. I could barely get out of bed. I did the resting thing. Saturday was more of the same. Today I finally made into the bath, fresh jammies & onto the sofa for a cuddle with my cat. I even managed to owing my nails before retreating back to bed. Go me.

Stuck in bedBronan ly h Kerr rainbow nail art

Harder than easy…

I understand the appeal of ‘fake it til you make it’. It is definitely a strategy i’ve employed, but I’m beginning to wonder if maybe there’s a dangerous crossover point. Does acting like you’re ok until you can actually be alright lose it’s usefulness when OK ceases to be a realistic goal?

At the moment I’m wavering between distraction at all costs and crying in the dark. I’m filling the days with as many fun or productive things as I can physically manage. I carry on with the wee ones; go rascalling to farms & libraries & soft play. Have lunches & chats & belly laughs with people I love. They temporarily pull my edges together. I’ve been busying myself with tidying the spare room. Organising my wardrobe. Hanging art that’s been waiting in boxes for months. I keep going until my body screams. When I stop I realise the calendar is still set to my due date & there is just no way I can open the curtains today.

Calendar on pile of books

Some days I can almost fool myself that I’m doing ok. I can keep from asking what’s the point. Push the existential thoughts aside & paint on a smile. It never lasts long. I’m still hollow. I don’t know when the forced productivity becomes a lie. Left to my own devices I am pretty sure I would lock the door & perpetually reopen my wounds. Is this manufactured well being what people mean when they say ‘just keep swimming’? I have to be honest I feel like eventually I’ll probably drown.

Person submerged in blue bath water

I’m holding onto the possibility that it might get better. Time heals and so on. I’m not sure I believe that, though. I think most of the time you probably just get used to pain. Intellectually I can work our what’s happening. I’m grieving. Not just the baby I lost, but the idea of any baby. I’m grieving the entire life I wanted. All the babies I never got to hold and all the theoretical ones that might have made that easier bear. I no longer have hope. That’s what is making it so hard.

I’m worried that this is it. My life will always be waiting for the next life raft. Clinging to a few hours of something good before I wade back into nothing. Emotion aside I don’t even have the energy to keep up this level of diversion. The recovery to doing ratio is creeping up. It is getting harder to put on make up & push my arse out the door. I fear my real mood is leaking out.

How long can I keep this up? Congratulating myself on finally emptying the washing basket feels like a shallow victory when I can’t write anything that doesn’t make me weep. I really don’t know if I’m nailing the life goes on thing or just closing my eyes to reality. There are still pre natal vitamins in a cupboard I no longer open and a box of positive pregnancy tests under my bed. The perfume I wore when my own made me nauseous remains on my dresser. I can’t sleep. I’m struggling to imagine a future that feels fulfilling. I can’t help thinking that avoiding these truths won’t change them.

Moonlit sky

I can logic this out, but that doesn’t change the problem. I can’t afford to get crazy again. I also cannot stop wondering if this is all there is. This keep on keeping on farce is wearing me out, but I don’t see a functional alternative.

All by myself…

I’m an ‘independent woman’. I’ve lived alone for basically my whole adult life. I take care of myself (I pay folk to do the manual labour, but still). I enjoy my own company. I can usually get by without too much hand holding.

I have, however, recently become aware of an infuriating blip in my self sufficiency. Since becoming single again I have noticed that I can’t go to the cinema alone. It wouldn’t be a big deal, except for the fact that I love seeing films on the big screen. I used to go weekly with my sister, but the advent of her baba has ruled that out. Almost all of my friends also have little ones. The few that don’t, live in different cities. Obviously, I no longer have a boyfriend to view blockbusters with & the cinema isn’t really a good date place. Which leaves me with, go alone (until I line up a cinema buddy) or don’t go at all. Neither of which felt appealing.

With each passing film that I had really wanted to see I have grown more frustrated with myself. Why can’t I go to cinema alone? I can’t think of much else that I wouldn’t do alone. I’ve travelled solo and eating out by myself doesn’t bother me. I have no problem sitting in bar or cafe, whiling a away an hour or two in my own company. I love living alone, to be honest I think it’s my preference. I attend scary medical appointments and pursue a variety of opportunities alone. Sitting in a darkened room staring at a screen unaccompanied shouldn’t be an issue. I can handle big grown up things without a partner. Why can’t I tackle something so trivial?

The only thing I could come up with is some weird insecurity about being judged. Would people think I don’t have any friends? Are strangers going to think I’m a loser? The obvious answer to these questions is who cares! I’ve never given much credence to the opinions of randoms. I’m not sure why I would start now. Yet, the anxiety persisted. There are of course lots of things that I felt worried about doing alone. Loads of occasions when I required back up or missed an event because I couldn’t face a crowd without a buffer. Whilst, not ideal, I can accept that as part of life with mental health difficulties. I couldn’t, though, make myself ok with just giving up a thing I regularly enjoy.

So, to utilise a cliche, I faced my fears. Full disclosure, I made it really easy. I picked a 10.30am screening when the cinema is practically empty. I also booked my ticket online. Thus minimising the amount of actual person to person contact I had to engage in. I did have all those negative thoughts running through my head. I did it anyway.

I can’t say that I was aware of anyone paying attention to my solo status. Note to everyone, hardly anyone cares about what the people around them look like, wear, are doing & so on. For the most part we’re all too busy dealing with the nonsense that’s going on in our own lives/days/heads. In short, if at all possible, do the thing. Don’t give yourself a hard time if you can’t manage every thing, but at least attempt anything close to manageable. It feels really bloody good to meet even little challenges.

My first me, myself & I movie was Long Shot. It’s not a classic rom com, but it is cute. I find Rogen’s charming outcast bit pretty attractive & there were enough feels to keep me interested. Definitely not a bad way to spend a Monday morning. Oh & I won’t have to see a superhero movie next time. Single life is actually pretty good.

You say yes, I say no…

I’ve been living in t shirt dresses so the outfit posts are on hold (if mirror selfies are your bag head to Instagram). Instead I shall share more polished aspect of my person. The nails.

Even when the rest of me looks like I fell out of a flitting, the nails are good. The last few weeks I’ve been lacking in energy & keeping it simple with a twist.

Starting with a citrus French manicure.

ly h Kerr citrus French manicure

Followed by candy stripes in a similar palette.

ly h Kerr candy stripes manicure

Then all black & indecisive to reflect my mood.

ly h Kerr yes no manicure

Finally landing on my current baby pink with a dash of red.

ly h Kerr baby pink manicure