The one day a year that I somehow feel ok with letting myself completely be vulnerable. For picking off that scab and letting the pain flow freely and over me.
The one day that through that pain I can see the little specks of light. The sunshine peeking through. The thought that I am so grateful that they were ever here. That they have shown me love beyond means. Love beyond my wildest dreams. Emotions that I could not have ever imagined.
Last night, it was 2 years since my water broke. I laid down in my bed to go to sleep on a Sunday night. I couldn't get comfortable. I flopped over onto my right side and heard and felt a pop. My life instantly felt over. I glanced at the clock as I left the room to go to the hospital. 9:40 p.m.
Last night at 9:40 I sat in a chair, numb, starting at the clock.
Today I found out that since I used up all my days taking care of Avery after she was born, in order for me to miss work on the 13th, it will cost $246.57.
The cost of me being able to grieve.
Will mean we wouldn't be able to pay our bills.
And so my heart is killing me because I know that the right thing to do would be to go to work.
How in the world will I do this?
I need advice. Have any of you chosen or been forced to go to work? I'm sure you have. What did you do to make it through? How do I stand in front of 180 middle schoolers throughout the day without breaking down?
Infertility and the Handmaid’s Tale
4 hours ago