Yesterday I was hunting for something in one of the many drawers in our house that needs a bit of a sort, when I came across an old appointment sheet from the OB. Every visit they would print out my next three appointments (and I had a lot of them, being high-risk). The sheet I found yesterday listed an appointment with my OB, an ultrasound and our labour and delivery orientation at the hospital.
I was sitting on the floor of our bedroom happily sorting when the paper found its way into my hands. The world stood still. I froze. My mouth opened in a silent gasp. My stomach dropped. All the usual stuff.
I looked at it like it belonged to someone else - to someone I vaguely knew once upon a time. It was the oddest sensation. I know that was me - those were my appointments, that was my life - but I'm just so different in so many ways and I can barely reconcile the fact that I ever was that happy pregnant woman dreaming endless dreams about her son and her perfect, beautiful little family-to-be.
I sometimes now forget that I've changed until I'm reminded by something like that piece of paper. In fact, there are things all over the house that remind me that, not that long ago, I was someone very different. I'm getting too used to who I am now and forgetting who I was. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. I liked who I was before my heart was torn completely apart - along with my world.
I'm not entirely sure how much I like myself now. I get very tired of being so sad and bringing so much sadness to others.
Sometimes I look at pictures of My Beloved and I from before Thomas - and from before our two miscarriages before him - and I see a difference. I swear I do. We look so innocent - so whole and unwounded. It makes me sad to look at those people and know we just aren't them anymore. We might look pretty much the same, but we're merely dark shadows of those two happy people who had no clue what was headed their way when they happily said "I do" a little over three years ago.
We're truly happy together. In fact, we take deep refuge in each other and the safest I feel is nestled up beside him in bed. But we're definitely not the same people we once were.
I know life does that to everyone, but I think it's generally a little more gradual. Most people have years to grow, mature, react to change, adjust. We had to do it much more quickly, so when I see something that belong to the very different me of just a year ago, I'm shocked - too shocked to even gasp audibly.
But even though I barely recognize myself, My Beloved does and somehow I recognize him too. Our love hasn't changed (except to grow) even though our lives couldn't be more different or our souls more wounded.
And so we just keep clinging to each other as the world spins on and on and on.
I've learned and grown, but is it wrong that I still wish I was that girl who the paper once belonged to...?