March Sucks!

Every year for the past 5 years, I dread the month of March. You would think that 5 years would be enough time to recover and to get on with things, and mostly I have. I hardly ever think about my miscarriage anymore. And when I do, I tend to be rather philosophical about it. After all, I have my hands full with three very active boys.

If I hadn't miscarried Therese, I would have been 8 months pregnant when I had the bleed in my brain. My blood pressure probably would have been higher at that point, and higher blood pressure = more bleeding. I would have probably been sectioned. That would have left my family with me in the neuro intensive care unit and a baby in the nicu. So yes, I can be very rational about the whole thing.

But then March rolls around. I realize I am crying for no reason. I'm cranky. I am tired. I feel hormonal. And, ah-ha!! The light bulb comes on. This is the month. THE Month.

It's the month when so many things came tumbling down around my ears. It's the month when I realized that my body could fail. I could lose a child within the blink of the eye with no warning. It's the month I realized how fragile life could be.

It's the month when the fears for my living children are quadrupled. When the bus is late, I start to feel panicky. I peak in their room numerous times in the night just to make sure they're all OK. I call from work to make sure they're all home from school. After all, if I can't keep a child in my womb safe, how am I going to keep the ones that are jumping out of trees and forgetting to put their helmets on when they ride their bikes safe.Out the door runs rationality and philosophy!

I just need to make it through March and into April. That's when spring will start. The birds and frogs will start their love songs. And the lilac, that we planted on Mother's Day in memory of Therese, will start to leaf out.