Finished my third day back at work, and I have hit an all-new low on the sadness scale.

I knew going back to work would be hard, but I didn’t imagine it the way it turned out.  It has been made worse by my husband getting called in to work every day until after Pascha.  I work 8-4, he works 4-1.  We don’t see each other unless one of us decides not to sleep.  Our schedule makes it even more heartbreaking that Seraphim is not at home; we would never have to leave our tiny baby with a babysitter just yet, if only there was a baby to be caring for.

I have consoled myself with saying that I must be doing better; a couple of months ago, if I’d been feeling as sad as I feel now, I would’ve called in sick.  I did that many times between November and February.  My supervisor said she understood and put up with it.

The sad is unbearable now, but I still show up and stick it out.  Every day, women bring their screaming infants to the library for me to listen to.  I can’t even remember what my own son’s cry sounded like.  Every time I think of that, I feel terrible.  Why can’t I remember?  Every day, I have to listen to people fawn over my supervisor’s pregnancy–something she explicitly denied me by insisting I not tell anyone I was pregnant.  Little did I know at the time that she was pregnant.  Well, it’s abundantly clear now and the anger turns into sadness whenever I see her, whenever I hear someone comment about her belly.

I dreaded the comments I would get from people when I returned to work.  I didn’t think I wouldn’t get any.

Honestly, the comments I prepared myself for would have been much more enjoyable than not get any.

I feel like I was forgotten, and now, finally, my baby really did never exist.

Not a single question about why I was gone 7 weeks, not a single question about my baby or even my own health.  No one has even asked me why I cut my hair.  I would be happy to tell them.  I would be delighted to tell them about my baby, about life and how I’m recovering–emotionally and physically.  Knowing that the people I spend my days with care even a bit would help immensely.

Instead, life goes on for everyone else, but for me it’s standing still.  I wish everyone would just give me a chance to catch up, but I’m simply not ready to yet.


3 thoughts on ““Normal”

  1. I just want you to know I’m looking at your blog every day. I want to know how you are surviving this. I tell your story- I was walking with a coworker and talking about my upcoming return to work and told of yours. How your boss wanted you to hide your pregnancy. How you didn’t even get o be fawned over as a pregnant woman. How you don’t even get the sympathy comments if people didn’t have the chance to know you were pregnant. And all this pushed upon you by someone who is pregnant herself. It hurts me to read this. I am impressed that you are just getting out of bed each day. I’m not going to say “you’re so strong” because I think that sets up expectation. I wish you strength through the hard days and want you to know your story is helping me through mine.

    1. Sometimes I want to know how I’m surviving this, too. I’ve been having so many bad dreams lately and hardly sleeping. It would not hurt so much if she weren’t pregnant–or if she’d taken her own advice and decided not to tell anyone or talk about it. Instead I have to hear about her wonderful pregnancy all throughout my shift. I want to yell at people, “Hey, I was pregnant, too, and my baby matters, too!” But I don’t know how. I want to talk about him, but I can’t. He never comes up. Thanks for commenting and I’m glad it can be encouraging to someone. I’m still just trying to make sense of my life and I guess talking about it helps me sift through all the chaos.

  2. Your baby does matter! Your baby does exist, and I am praying for you and walking along side you in this. I check both yours and Meghan’s blog regularly, the only women I know KNOW how all this crazyness feels. I am so sorry that you have been pushed down, and I pray that God will reveal to you little ways for you to share Seraphim with people. Just know that he and you matter to me, you matter so much. I am so thankful to not have walked this journey alone and your precious baby’s name and story is on my heart all the time. All the time.

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