I used to swim. Have I mentioned that before? Not competitively, or seriously, or anything like that. But I’ve always loved it. The ocean, a lake, streams and/or rivers. Sometimes a pool, but I preferred natural sources mostly. After I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to do something movement-related more regularly that would benefit the baby. So I went to our local rec center, and signed an agreement that would withdrawal a stupid amount from my bank account over 12 months (even though I only wanted to use the pool, and that is all I ever did) in exchange for swimming privileges. For real, you’d think they’d have the option for just a pool membership. Sigh. At the time, I figured if nothing else I’d use the everything-membership-for-just-the-pool regularly until November when the baby came, and then after a short break would resume postpartum.
And for about a month, I did use it regularly. And then we lost the baby, and the world stopped even when it didn’t, and after the D&C I wasn’t allowed to be “submerged” in water for two weeks. I waited the time, and fully intended to go back. I had my pool bag packed and in the car ready for going right after work. But I didn’t. And then the “free swim” times changed just enough that I would barely get there from work before the time block shut, and worrying about the timing stressed me out. So I didn’t go. And now it’s the second week I’ve been on summer break, and I still haven’t gone.
Full disclosure, I always had to push myself to go because my introversion does not like trying to swim laps in a pool with other strangers who are also using it at the same time (I know that sounds strange). If I had my druthers and a boatload of cash and could do it without ruining my backyard, I’d build a pool behind my house and probably be in it every day. But I don’t have those things, so I forced myself to get the rec membership and use the collective rec pool. And it was okay, and I was always glad I had gone, and there were some peaceful moments but I never loved it completely because it seemed like such a chore for me.
I did it for the baby, is what I am coming to realize. More than anything else, that’s why I did it. And I think that’s why it’s so hard to make myself go back. The reason I was pushing myself to do it, is gone.
And that is hard. It’s so damn hard.
Now, I’m trying to talk myself into it because not going is losing me money, since I had to sign a year’s contract. (Smart of them, huh?)
So tonight, here I sit, trying to convince myself to go tomorrow. To just do it. Get it over with. But I’m not sure if I can; I’ve not been doing the hottest with this grief thing this week. What if it just makes it worse?