Post Miscarriage Depression

It took me a bit to put this all together, to name it.  There were signs – Axel got granola and yogurt for lunch three days in a row.  He proclaimed to his father that, in one day, he got to watch three episodes of the Backyardigans (not to mention the Yo Gabba Gabba thrown in there); he didn’t add it was because I couldn’t muster up the energy for anything else and have taken to regularly breaking our in-house TV guidelines.  I’ve spent a lot of time considering how to make sweatpants office-appropriate, and then changing my clothes, over and over again, which is always a sure sign that all is not quite right.  Then there’s the weepiness, urge to go to bed at 8 and stay there for 12 hours, and unquenchable cookie cravings.  

It’s the no baby blues, I guess. 

There’s a big, loud part of my brain that recognizes that this loss is minor, that I should move on, that I’m incredibly blessed with my two rowdy joyful children and husband and job and house and health and packed fridge.  I’m working on getting it to drown out the other part, the one that still gets a little weepy whenever I see a healthy pregnant woman walking down the street. 

Especially after reading this – the State of the World’s Mothers.  More than 350,000 women around the world die each year as a result of complications from pregnancy and giving birth. 

While I know I’m going to keep having a few moments – probably more than a few – of sorrow and blue-black emotions, right now, I’m going to put a little of the money I would’ve been spending on onesies and a new mobile to a better use – supporting maternal and child health around the world, taking action, and focusing on how I can help. 

There’s more here, at Every Mother Counts. 

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