I’ve been having trouble sleeping. More so than what could be construed as “normal” for me. Partially one could argue that this is to be expected when I’ve gotten out of the rather strict routine I have to abide by for 10 months out of the year. But I’m not convinced that’s it.
My mind has just been whirring more than it usually does when I’m attempting to sleep. I’ve taken to scrolling through Pinterest or Etsy or anything really to try to bring on the wearies. But that doesn’t work, of course, which is why I normally forbid myself to do it.
Tonight as I was attempting to be mindless, I felt a sob coming on. It’s a full body sensation, you know? And I was trying to be quiet about it so I wouldn’t wake up my bed mate. But my body, already poised at the precipice, was resolutely not backing down. So I figured maybe the best thing to do was to let it come.
I went to the spare would-have-been-the-nursery room and got the baby’s memory box down. I let myself go through the congratulations cards, the onesie, the booties, the ultrasound, the announcement picture. I looked at all the condolence cards. I let myself cry. I asked the memory of my baby when it had died. It’s still hard not to know.
Then I put everything back in the box. It didn’t take long, there isn’t much there. I turned out the light and hoped for sleep again. But here I am.