I have one of the easiest and one of the hardest jobs ever. I'm a stay at home mom to a baby who isn't here anymore. My job is easy because Thomas is an incredibly low-maintenance baby. And perfect too. He never gives us a moment's trouble. Never has and never will.
It's hard a job because it's one I didn't plan for and don't quite no how to do all that well yet. So far it seems to entail cleaning, cooking, organizing, grocery shopping and crying. And missing Thomas like crazy.
I'm not working right now because, well, there are a lot of reasons. But mostly it's because I don't know how much stress contributed to what happened to Thomas and me, but if I do get pregnant again I don't want to have to wonder and worry about what a 2.5 hours daily commute and a stressful job is doing to the precious new little life inside me.
Granted that's a big if. I have no idea if we'll be able to get pregnant again or if a new little soul will decide to stick around. In addition to our Thomas, two other souls have tiptoed into and out of my body since we started trying. There's no guarantee that there aren't other small souls waiting for their turn to tiptoe in and out too.
If no new little life decides to call me home for a nice, long, happy 9 months I'll have to re-evaluate things and, most likely, head back out into the working world.
I know I'll probably want and need that then. I'll need something else to feel full because I know if that day comes I'll be feeling even more empty and broken than I do right now and I'll need to search hard for something to keep me happy and fulfilled. Not that My Beloved doesn't, but I can't make him responsible for fulfilling me. If I'm never going to be a mother to earth-dwelling children I'll need something else to do to make my life a worthwhile one.
I hate thinking like this, but I'm 35. It's a reality I have to face - or at least think about - so I'm not blindsided the way I was when Thomas died.
I must always be as mentally prepared as possible now. I can't deal with any more of those kind of surprises. And I hope I never, ever, ever have to.
P.S. I have to give credit where it's due. Jill (one of my sisters in sorrow) uses the term "tiptoed in and out" in reference to her miscarriages. I thought the phrasing was very sweet and I've borrowed it from her. Thanks Jill.