2 inches to the left

So I meant to post 9 days ago, on the 18 month anniversary of the day I birthed the dead. Yup, I still think of it that way. Yes I have been in therapy this whole time. I've had better days. They are getting worse, but that's a story for another blog? I'm thinking of doing an different blog. Don't know what it'll be like or about or called. I don't have to go home, but I can't stay here.

  I can't be sad about Juniper all the time. I also can't be at peace with it. I can't write about him. I miss him like always, but it is distant and amorphous. I still get misty over newborns, not usually 18 month-old toddlers, which is what he should be. I am still deeply traumatized by everything.  I don't cry very often. For the 1.5 year deathiversary I did weep my eyes out quietly in the dark next to my -sleeps like a rock husband- whilst clutching the hat I made for Juniper that I could have sworn he was wearing when we sent him off to be "handled." I have no idea how that hat came back. I wonder if they burned him naked. That isn't very nice, or comforting. I also have no idea why there is a staple mixed in with his ashes. A regular -office looking- staple. It's all charred and black, but is clearly a staple, not a baby bone or flake of what I assume is skull? It might be a suture, but why only one. and it's kind of huge. Who knows? Why do I even think about these things? These thoughts are the things that make it hard for me to act be normal.

  I'm not sure what the hell to do. The long and short of it is. I am tired of being a dead baby mom. I feel bad that I just dropped out of "the community." I subscribed to so many blogs and I haven't checked any of them. Half I'm afraid of because they already have their rainbows and the other half are in some sort of hellish limbo, but not the same one I'm in. I feel bad, but I can't be supportive. I have nothing to give. Not even to my own family. I've been doing a lot of isolating lately. For better and worse. If it makes anyone feel better, I also dropped out of my Mothering community because of one "oops" pregnancy announcement. I haven't spoken to my mother in a year because she pissed me off one too many times. And I can't forgive her because she hasn't asked me too. She doesn't get it. She hurts her kids then makes excuses. I don't have room for people who can't be trusted.  Even when I am surrounded by friends and family, I am making myself alone. WHY? I don't know. Perhaps because I know I am pretty much alone in my quest for another baby anyway. I have a bevy of well wishers (I think) but ultimately Dave was right when he called this "my project."  So we all just play along, but I'm not exactly here, or there. I'm about two inches to the left I guess.

  I have other kids that need me, though I often am just phoning it in because my head is never on quite straight. I hurt my wrist the other day pushing Nigel on the swing. I wasn't really into it. I was a thousand miles away resenting being at the park with a kid who refused to PLAY. I was so frustrated at having to do this simple interaction when all I really wanted to do was sit on my ass and talk with other moms.Though even there, there was an uncomfortable disconnect. I am having a really hard time being present in just about every interaction. It makes for some scary driving. Terrible. I know. "Why would she want to have other kids when she is so put off by the ones she has now?"  But I'm not, I swear. I'm just having so much trouble wanting to be in this life. I'm not sad, I'm not angry. I'm waiting. And my therapist says that's the problem. I have to stop waiting. I can find a million things to occupy my time. I can sew, needle point, card wool, make cosplay outfits, chat at the park, pick berries, drink a lot of wine, go shopping, play guitar, ride bikes, etc... I'm not present while I'm doing any of them. So I wait, while I should be there doing that thing. Whatever it is. It's not what I want to be doing. It's just something I'm doing to bide my time. An unhealthy and unpleasant way to exist. I'm depressed, but not in a sad way. And I end up hurting myself by just not paying good attention. It's pathetic.

  I've been seeing so many many practitioners about that too. The hurting. Literal and figurative head-straightening. I was having agonizing, blinding headaches and neck and shoulder and hip pain that would kill a weaker man. But thanks to my super team of chiropractor, acupuncturist, massage therapist, physical therapist and the massage chair my daddy got my for Solstmas.  I can mostly move my head and neck sometimes. So that was fun. Now my wrist hurts and I am swollen like whale carcass on the beach at high noon from the stupid Clomid (more on that below.) I live in a world of stupid minor discomforts and I try to suck it up, but this is my blog and I'll whine if I want to!

  Next we moved on to failing at getting pregnant (or maybe it was simultaneous. Who remembers? The past 7 months, no ... 18months, no ... 2 years+  have been a bit of a blur.) We consulted the fertility doctors and they did a few intrusive and unpleasant tests. Just this past couple of weeks I have been subjected to an HSG and a Clomid Challenge test with the accompanying blood draws, dildo cams and grievous side effects.. Just like all the blood work I endured last year. IT WAS POINTLESS. I guess I am fine. My body killing off and then outright avoiding babies is just BAD FUCKING LUCK!  So now we are at the I can't seem to get pregnant and there is apparently no reason for the septenary infertility (6 pregnancies, if any one's counting.) Unless of course this Clomid thing does it's goddamn job, besides just making me fat and cranky and have achy boobs. I have, in theory, had enough time since Juniper was born, to grow and birth two babies. (If I was insane)  And the one my body killed off in January would be due a couple of days ago. So, I'm still in dead baby waiting land, but now with inexplicable infertility and two big kids who are getting older every minute; including one that I have recently had to discuss birth control with. (scary.)

So that's where I am. And I decide today that I really need to blog. Even if no one reads it or comments. Because It does keep me present. I am sitting on my porch in the lovely summer dark drinking cheap white wine and blogging because that's this kind of thing you can do with no baby. But it's not where I want to be. SO, I'm wondering if I should start a new blog? If so, what to focus on. Sewing? Homeschooling? The trials and tribulations of having old eggs and two out of your six babies alive?  Should I just stay here? If you are still reading, please weigh in, but I'll understand if you're not, since it's only fair.