Dancing, dancing

This post is related to a post in my other journal (you can leave a comment if you want to read that one, if you don't know where it is - include your email address in some way k?). It was a busy weekend fraught with relationship tensions.

And throughout, the baby kept moving, and I kept fighting not to dissociate from the experience. So you're moving around in there, just like Emily did, but in your own way. But what if you stop? It's freaky. It's a little disturbing. The joy of it is inaccessible to me right now.

Instead it makes me look down the road to that "maternal monitoring" that becomes the third trimester responsibility. If your baby slows down and you notice, sometimes you can intervene. But what if you don't? I know, now, that cords can get twisted up around babies necks early - 19 weeks, 25 weeks - and kill them then. Lots of other things can happen.

Emily slowed down, the last couple of days when I was throwing up. I did mention it, and everyone's consensus was that she was a) running out of room and b) in position for labour. But I still wonder.

My belly is now officially past my boobs, and it seems awfully early for that, especially given the state of my rack. But there it is. I'm just about past any phase that people would think "fat" and not "pregnant." Spring is arriving and I have almost no spring-like maternity clothes, but so far I hate everything I've seen in the stores. I am thinking of looking for some batik-like sundresses, if those come in pregnancy friendly shapes. I have some already (more accurately, Lyria does) but they are buried in storage. If this baby lives we'll be living in them for years while Lyr frolics anyway.

At least I hope she will. She is oddly detached too; more than I am in many ways, and last time she managed a lot of the pregnancy and most of the baby planning. I think it hurts her too much to hope, in some ways, or at least hope out loud.

Last night I dreamed about this; I dreamed that I was in a shop that sold all kinds of wild clothes, glittery fairy winged shirts and flowy dresses. I was flipping through the racks trying hard to find anything that would fit over my belly, and I couldn't find anything, and the salesperson didn't see why it was important since I was wearing a perfectly fine suit.

(In our multiple system, I would say I'm the suit and Lyr's the wings :))

The weekend was tense for a lot of reasons. This city decision is still on the emotional horizon, although it's clear that we're agreed on Toronto, as long as I don't fall prey to indecision and re-open the door. I appreciate so much being heard and supported, but I seem to have forgotten to get that across much - mostly I feel too raw and defensive. I feel vulnerable and it's still hard not to look for Carl for reassurance that he won't be miserable or bitter later. I tried, on Sunday, to push for it a bit (bad!) and he just said "well we agreed everyone had to be comfortable and you're not, so that's it." A very fair remark but to me it sounded like "the rules are the rules" and I spun into one of those weird life-partner fights where you're just sniping. "Fix it."

But also we were hitting triggers. It's not like Emily's birth and death were all that happened, and this is the grieving season we had last year. This month is just a blur to me - right through April and into May, actually. We also triggered ourselves. Once, Carl was flipping channels and hit the show on Life that is about the Hospital for Sick Children, and there in all its glory was the NICU Emily was in, with some of the same staff. That was freaky. Then we watched Finding Neverland which is about a lot, but especially grief. I personally find that kind of work helpful - it makes me feel more connected - but it still raises the issues.

Sometimes I feel mired. Last pregnancy I was playing music for the baby and gearing up to read to the baby and this time I feel like I'm just struggling uphill to eat right and not do anything awful like drink or get too worked up. Sometimes I feel envious of people where things happened at 20 weeks, or 22 weeks - they get to a point after which it's new. But for us it won't be until the baby's out and okay, if that happens.

On the other hand, we aren't facing down anything that necessarily recurs - no genetic, repeatable thing.

But I still need, I think, to find some joy in it. It's very hard to find anything joyful when the predominant actual emotion is fear. But we've done this before as recovering victims of sexual abuse - with sex, with relationships, with living itself. I think it can be done. Somehow. The main thing is, it really doesn't matter. If you don't feel the joy, and something awful comes, it doesn't hurt any less.

But tell my heart that!