Thanksgiving weekend musings

You know you're completely domesticated when you have somehow memorized the expiration date of at least three perishables in your fridge.
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It seems very, very wrong to have the air conditioning running on Thanksgiving weekend. And yet we do. When it's 30C with the humidex I don't care WHAT day of the year it is, the a/c goes on.
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At least 5 friends, both real and "virtual" have given birth in the last month. The biggest baby booms always seem to hit when I'm struggling the most to keep my bereaved, barren head above water.
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I held a newborn baby this week. It was just the third time since Thomas died. She was small and sweet and felt so warm and soft as she fell asleep in my arms. It was love at first sight. I only wish it didn't bring back such vivid memories of holding Thomas, so still and quiet. But it did. I'm sure it always will. And that just has to be okay with all of us.
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This weekend I am thankful despite everything.
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It looks like the Mass of Remembrance at my church is a go! I'm nailing down a speaker for after Mass (from a local bereaved parents "ministry" organized by a church in a neighbouring city) and once I do everything else should fall neatly into place. My priest, who is both kind and unbelievably compassionate, agreed to virtually everything I proposed. Kind of makes me wonder why his boss doesn't seem to want to listen to me. Clearly my ideas aren't ALL bad...
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I can't wait for turkey. And then turkey again with the in-laws. And then turkey sandwiches. Me and my tummy are pretty easy to please.
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If I was shorter and had a good mask, it's entirely possible that I'd still go trick-or-treating.
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Every Halloween while I'm sitting in the darkened front room waiting for My Beloved to come home from work to join me in the door-answering extravaganza, I quietly tell Thomas what costume I'd have gotten for him, and how he'd have been the cutest little trick-or-treater on the street.
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The last few weeks has been difficult for me. The strange high I was on after the miscarriage has disappeared, as I suspected it would, and in its place is a bit of a delayed grief reaction. I was so happy to have survived the complications from the D&C (and so worried about my own health in the days following) that I think I blocked the whole horrible reality of the situation out of my head. And it has found its way back in. Fantastic.
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If I slept for a year it wouldn't seem like enough rest for my battered body and my ravaged mind. And that's grief in a nutshell.