So I’m 22 days into the keto diet.
Over the years, I’ve tried to lose weight. For a bit, I was successful. Like in 2012 when I lost close to 30lbs and started running. I felt wonderful then. I enjoyed running so much. It was internal therapy to push all my negative feelings into getting my feet moving. I could think and yell and be mad but after a run, I felt resolved. If I was having a particularly hard depression/self hate time, I could beat myself up healthily with a run.
I’ve missed it desperately. I really have. Being the weight I am now, it’s been difficult to move beyond day-to-day life. Lincoln died. And then the twins surprised us. We moved. My marriage has hit a pretty hard rough spot. There is excuse after excuse why I haven’t been able to get it going. But I’m done with that shit. I’m ready to get back to my therapy. I’m ready to not be so tired I can’t function. I’m ready to be able to keep up with my kids.
See, when the boys were born, I gained about 35 lbs and when you’re already 300 lbs at 5’3″ that is no good. I’ve struggled so much with my body image as of late as well as always just feeling miserable. Every time I would attempt to control my eating habits, as soon as I started seeing the scale move, I would self sabotage and eat everything terrible for me. When I gave up diet coke, I really feel like that was a major starting point for me. It’s been a habit for me for close to 8 years and to finally kick it after saying time and time again that I would, felt amazing. It made me feel like I could for real accomplish something after years and years of being a quitter when it came to tough stuff.
Then in September, I felt like I was screwed in the health department. I was never gonna do it. Never lose weight and probably die young of a heart attack because I wasn’t taking care of my body. I looked into surgery and honestly it’s just something I can’t justify to my brain because I feel like I can do it without. I know how well some do with it but I wasn’t ready for potential complications. Also I’m terrified of anesthesia. If ever something cosmetic comes up, I’m reallyyyyy going to have to want it to overcome that hurdle.
So here I am, 22 days into Keto. I’m down to 319 even after starting at 336.2 lbs with my next official weigh in on Sunday. I did not much in the way of exercise today but that okay, because I’m working on it. I’m excited to see what future me becomes!
I’ve been gone but I’m back now.
Its been… a while. About 9 months since I’ve written anything more than an instagram post or a date in my calendar book. I wasn’t sure I would have get the writing bug again. It’s like life fell off after losing Lincoln and I just couldn’t be bothered with it anymore. My pregnancy with the twins had me in constant fear that I would be coming home from the hospital yet again with empty arms.
And then they were here. And perfect. Life became an adjusting game. Adjusting to having two kids in school. Having two babies going through most of the same stages or at least one after another. And I gave up on blogging. I just stopped. I could motivate myself to get it done and I’m 100% the depression of what our life situation was at the time influenced that. But because I wasn’t taking better care, I lost everything of my previous site. I thought I was backing it up and doing it right and I was in fact not.
So this is a clean slate I suppose. A way to start again while finally feeling content in my life once more.
In just two short weeks you’ll have been born 6 months ago. SIX. How? I feel like I say that every time. How has so much time gone by. How have some days seemed to fly while others I feel like I can barely move under this crushing sadness. Some days it doesn’t seem real. How am I a mother to a baby who died? Why didn’t I get to meet you, get to know you and who you would have been?
It’s hard baby. Some days I try hard not to think about it. About the day we found out you weren’t alive anymore. About wanting to have you so I could start mourning the lose of you completely. But it comes rushing back at times. At the weirdest times really. Whenever we’re on the part of highway driving towards were the doctors office was, I remember joking with daddy about find out if you were a boy or a girl. Telling him I wouldn’t let him in on the secret. Sometimes when I see diet dr pepper, I remember how much I craved it with you. For awhile, I couldn’t even buy pickles because they were an us food.
These little memories can really throw a wrench in mommy’s day. I’ll be honest, it doesn’t take much. There will be days when I feel fine. When I feel like I can talk about you without crying, but I’m wrong. Every time. There are days when it seems like you were a dream come true turned into a nightmare ending that I can’t wake up from.
There are times when it feels like it’s a good idea to go talk to someone because of how much my heart hurts and then there is this part of me that says “what can they do?”. I think I’ll always just be this broken person inside who was supposed to have a Landon, Emmie and Lincoln. And while I’ll always have you, it won’t ever be normal.
You sister and brother miss you to and those days, when they ask questions are the hardest. “Why did Lincoln die?” “When will you have another baby?” or the real stab “Will the next baby die?” These questions kill me to have to answer. I want to tell Emmie she needs to back away from you and give you space and not have explain that it will probably be a long time before we have another baby.
You were it little man. You were our last and now when I think about providing you more siblings, it feels like I’m trying to replace you. I feel guilty and unworthy of being your mama. This post loss stuff is hard. Some days when you’re on my mind little because I try to keep busy and I remember, I feel like I didn’t deserve you. It’s all a blame game really. I blame your death on how deserving of you I was. I wasn’t very apparently because you aren’t here like you should be.
Mommy misses you.
As February 27th draws nearer, I find myself sinking deeper into the loss of Lincoln. I find that my sadness this month has been hitting me harder and more unexpectedly. It’s almost like in the first month or two when every little thing made me think of my pregnancy. I am so hypersensitive to anything baby right now.
I remember once my sister asking me if I thought my due date would be hard. I told her I didn’t think it would as I don’t have much association with that date because I knew I would go over. I was very wrong.
When I’m sitting close to a table, all I can think is that this should be uncomfortable. When I was so sick last week I thought I might need to go to the hospital for dehydration, I wondered if I had still been pregnant this would have started labor. When I bought furniture for our room this week, my thoughts went to how I would have been buying baby things with this money right now. I would be preparing for his entrance into the world and our lives.
As his due date comes closer faster than I ever anticipated, all I feel is this sorrow. I think of the celebration of life we won’t be experiencing in early march. I think of all the diapers we won’t be changing. I think of all the little cries and cues that we won’t ever hear from our second son.
The why us’s come crashing down again and I’m angry about the fact that our son won’t be coming home alive to us just like in the beginning.
For a date that I thought would have little impact on my emotions, I feel like I’ve lost him all over again.
I’m here. I’m alive. Lately though it’s just been hard to find the want to do anything. I think as Lincoln’s due date gets closer, that might be how it feels. I feel so close to having to let him go because soon he would have been here.
Yesterday I went and bought a new car. This was always the plan because our other car didn’t fit three car seats and we also needed two cars. One just wasn’t doing it for us anymore. The whole time, all I thought about was how if I was still pregnant I would be to big to enjoy car shopping.
Some days are easier than others. Many days my heart feels heavy from the weight of missing the child I won’t even get to meet. I know I’ve said it in other posts but I just always wonder who he would have been. What he would have loved. Would he have been left handed or right handed?
I’ll never know anything beyond that I loved him, he was 10 inches and 11 ounces. He was my little giraffe. I miss him so much that sometimes it’s hard to function.
But I’m here. I’m getting through most days. Sometimes though it’s hard for me to find the want to write or do much of anything.
Christmas is upon us.
Tomorrow will be two months since Lincoln was born.
At this point, I thought I would be showing a wonderfully huge stomach. I thought I would be complaining about leg pain. Tiredness. Sore breasts.
Instead, I’m mourning the loss of the son I’ll never know.
Christmas, besides Halloween, is my favorite time of the year. Seeing family, give gifts and the fact that it’s always been a loved Holiday in my family has made it so. But not this year.
This year, when I should be letting people feel my stomach to feel his kicks and answering “When are you due?” 300 times a day, I’m avoiding certain parts of our family because they have new babies. Instead of lovingly grasping my stomach as to cradle our baby, I’m trying to stay festive enough for my kids. It just seems as each milestone of weeks and months pass by, it gets harder knowing I’m not actually counting down to anything but rather getting farther away from the firsts and last with Lincoln.
At the happiest time of the year, I’m just so sad, angry, heartbroken and empty.
I feel empty.
I’m supposed to be growing a baby. But I’m not.
I’m supposed to be annoyed that people are trying to touch my stomach. But I’m not.
I’m not pregnant. I’m not okay. I’m just not.
I’ve been asked this multiple times since Lincoln died. Each time digs the grief blade in a little bit further.
What I want to say is Three. I have three kids but only two of them are alive. I have two sons and a daughter but I’ll never get to know my son. In fact my son shouldn’t even be born for another two and a half months. He should be healthy and kicking away in me. He should be making me pee every 20 minutes, making me so tired that I don’t even know how I am going to get through finals, making my pelvis feel so full and open. I should be looking forward to doctors appointments and buying him things. I should be starting a birthing course and hiring a doula. I should be stocking up on cloth diapers because we were going to give it a real go this time.
Instead I quietly say two and turn my head. I close my eye, take a deep breath and try to keep myself from breaking down.
There is a picture of Lincoln’s hands at the bottom. If that is something you don’t want to see, please leave now.
Three days ago was Lincoln’s first month.
One month since my sweet baby was born.
One month since I’ve held him.
One month since I’ve kisses his sweet face.
I suspect that eventually, this achy hole in my heart won’t hurt so badly anymore. Eventually it will dull down. That hasn’t happened yet though. It still hurts as much as it did when we found out he was gone.
I think the hardest part is no one really acknowledges him. Sometimes it would be nice to hear other people say his name. My husband does sometimes and my sister will to but other than that, no. It’s like he never existed and that kills me. I want to share his pictures. I want to talk about how happy he made me for the short time he was around. Even if I cry, I’m just sad he’s gone, not that he was here.
Tomorrow, I’ll be celebrating out first major Holiday without him. Yes, we went through Halloween but I slept while Chris took the kids out. I was kind of disconnected from myself then. Tomorrow, I will be dealing with family members I haven’t seen yet. Tomorrow, I’ll be thinking about how I would be showing. How Lincoln would probably be kicking hard enough to feel on the outside now. How I wouldn’t be able to eat too much because Lincoln always made me so full so fast. How I should be exhausted when I go shopping with my mother in low tomorrow night/friday.
This year, even though I feel like I had a piece of myself stolen from me, I am so thankful for the 22 weeks I got with him. I’m so thankful for that morning sickness. I’m thankful for the exhaustion I felt. I’m so thankful for the sore breast and on and off bleeding. I’m thankful for the kicks I got to feel while he was still with us. I’m thank for the pictures, prints, his blanket and his little bunny.