Shields Up

This pregnancy I have become a master at defense mechanisms. Not by choice really, but it seems to be my standard operating mode- Full Shields Up.

I spent the entire pregnancy with Frostina being scared. Petrified would be a better word. I was sure that at any moment it would all go wrong again. I fretted and cried and fretted some more. I made myself miserable with stress and fear and worry. I'm not upset at myself about it because it was the only way I knew how to be pregnant after a loss. It was my standard operating mode.

This time around things are very different. For one thing, I have Frostina to chase around. Plus there's the international move, trying to find a new house, and getting my new life sorted here in Florida. I am busy and have much less time to sit around being scared.

But it's more than that I think. I think this time around I just can't be fearful the entire time. I can't be worried all the time that this baby will die. I barely survived a fear-filled pregnancy and I think I just can't do it again. So my smart little brain has figured out how to put the walls up and help me to focus on the rest of my life, not just the pregnancy. I have no idea how it happened or how long it will last. I may wake up tomorrow and feel completely different,,, and that's ok,,, but for now this is how I feel and what seems to be working for me.

A bit of the old me has crept back in. The old me that stayed away from sad and scary stories. The old me that truly believed that ignorance in some cases is bliss. The old me that actually allows myself to believe that being pregnant means you will be coming home with a living baby in the end. I'm not as foolish as the old me though. I do know that avoiding bad thoughts and stories doesn't protect you from having them happen. This time I am choosing to focus on the positive as opposed to hiding from the negative.

I have found myself shying away from many of my old haunts here in the internet. I am no longer drawn to every sad story of women who like me have lost children. Not because I don't care about them or don't relate anymore,,,, because I still do. But more because I don't need to connect to the pain of others the way I used to. There was a time when I craved that kind of affirmation, to know I wasn't alone. But now it all feels a bit too much, a bit too indulgent, a bit like I need to spend my time focusing on my life as it is now.

Trust me, this is not a happy, I'm over it now post. I'm so not over it. But I can't dwell on it like I used to. I can't let it consume me day in and day out. I have to do things like paint Baby Olea's room in the new house and go through Frostina's old clothes to see how many are suitable for the sunny Florida climate.

I have to move forward and live my life. And for now that means not dwelling so much on the past. Never forgetting my beloved son of course, but perhaps filing things away. Away behind the defensive walls, behind the shields. The way you put important things away in a very safe place you know you can revisit when you need to. Put away for safe keeping as opposed to being put in a frame sitting in your front room.

I Finally Made Chili Again- And Nobody Died

You're probably reading the title for this post and thinking to yourself, "What on earth is she on about?" So I will give you a bit of background.

If you're a long time reader of my blog you may remember this post. It was written just over a year after my son died and was born. In it I was reflecting on my journey to find my new normal. I also shared a story about how I was no longer able to make chili after his death. If you've already clicked on the link to the post then you know why chili became a grief trigger for me. But it you don't want to do that then I will give you the short version.

I made a big pot of chili for a BBQ the night before I found out my son had died. When I got home from having received the horrible news, practically the only thing in my fridge was the huge pot of chili. As part of all the preparation for going back into the hospital to give birth to my son the next morning, I had to deal with what to do with said chili.

I have been unable to make chili ever since. The Hubby has asked me several times and the result has been anxiety and tears. I know it seems silly, but that's just the way it's been.

Until now.

Last week The Hubby told me that his employees were going to be in town and he wanted to have them over for another BBQ. He gently asked if I felt ready to make chili again. Apparently they have been asking for it every time they are in town. I know I should be flattered that almost 3 years on they are still talking about my chili, but up until now it's not been something I wanted to face.

This time when he asked I felt none of the old anxiety; none of the dread; none of the sadness. I didn't burst into tears or flash back to that place where I was back home with my dead baby inside me trying to figure out what to do with a big pot of chili. Someway, somehow, this huge trigger for my grief was just gone. Instead of being a trigger, chili was simply something to feed guests at a BBQ.

I don't know how it happened, or when, but I now have another piece of my old normal back.

It was a bit of a challenge to remember exactly how I made it as I had also thrown out my recipe. But I managed to piece it together and I have to admit that it tasted really good. Everyone loved it and most people went back for seconds.

So there you have it. I finally made chili again- and nobody died!