February was a difficult month for me. March looks like it's going to be harder.
There has been a lot going on; visits with friends and the Olympics to name a couple. A brought Baby J home, and we've spent a good deal of time hanging out, and I've gotten to enjoy her teeny sweetness a lot. A swears that Baby J needs me to hold her in order to poop, and so far we haven't seen anything to disprove that. (oh, darn, I have to snuggle the tiny one?) I also decided that for the sake of my own sanity, I needed to cut down how much the Infanta was nursing; she's down to about three times a day (plus whatever during the night, which has become usually not all that much), and has taken it pretty well. She still asks, but accepts when I say no, because it's not time.
The Infanta also dove straight into a huge developmental and physical growth leap in the last couple of weeks. Her clothes are getting short, and her language sophistication increases by the day. As the natural flip side, she's also become prone to ginormous tantrums, as incidents insignificant to us trigger huge emotions that she doesn't know how to cope with yet... not to mention the further development of her contrary side. (I wonder where she got that?) It's very difficult and frustrating for us to cope with, but nothing anyone who's parented a toddler hasn't dealt with. Still, it's new to us, and J and I are struggling to figure out our compromises in parenting style at the same time the Infanta's changing so rapidly.
Trouble is, I'm beginning to not do so well all on my lonesome. I was able to almost forget about the baby (babies) I should have been carrying for a little while, but I have become aware again, and the grief is triggering my depression. I've found myself dissociating a lot in the last few days, and beginning to lose interest in pursuits I'd been enjoying. It's like that last pregnancy was more real to me, because I was so aware of it and had it confirmed so clearly, and had allowed myself to hope... and then those hopes were dashed as I knew the moment I passed what baby there was. And now I know exactly how far along I'd be, because the due date would have been the same as the Infanta's... It's not that I'm dwelling on it. It's that I'm trying to go about my life, but it's reaching up and dragging me away from that life - I had gotten so far behind on dishes, for example, that I ran two loads today and still couldn't get them all. and I won't talk about how long some of this laundry's been waiting to be folded. But... I don't cry easily, not for myself, and had forgotten until a week and a half ago that I hadn't cried about this last miscarriage. At that time, I was able to squeeze out a little moisture, because I was at a memorial... and a couple of nights ago someone said something that made me tear up a little... but I still haven't *really* cried, and I can feel something like a tidal wave building up, and I don't know how to let it out.