the sound of silence

It is very quiet chez Illanare.  Recently it has been almost totally silent.
We come home.
I prepare supper and we eat it, usually in front of BB.C New.s 24.
A then retires to the bedroom with his laptop and / or Kindl£.
I do the washing up, plus or minus some laundry then spend some time on the interwebs.
Then I go to bed and A relocates to the living room until he comes to bed, usually a couple of hours later.

Seems like he can't stand to be in the same room as me.  And I don't know what I did wrong or how to fix it.

back

Hello, I'm back.  Did you miss me? :-)

We have been here for a week.  It was so nice; warm weather, long walks, longer down time with books, good food, lots of sleep.  Proper lovely...

a start

So Project "Reclaiming Myself" has got off to a snail's pace start.  Turns out that life is not like a film or sitcom and isn't a series of montage shots of me jogging, smiling over a supper of green leaves and air and watching the scales register ever lower to a background of "Don't Stop Believing".  Apprently I have to work for it.  I feel cheated...

Anyway, 2kg lost, although that has been due to being sick since Wednesday.  Proper unwell involving much worshipping at the porcelain altar, a visit from the emergency doctor and an injection in my posterior, among other glamourous scenes. 

And I have convinced / blackmailed some friends into joining me at a Zumb@ class after work once a week, starting in February.  More than a little nervous about that but it should be fun if nothing else.

So, with more work, the woman I was - or at least the post-babyloss version of her - could be making a reappearance this year :-)

the woman I was

Before April 2008 I was:
slim-ish (healthy BMI of 24)
happy
confident in myself, my body, my relationship
fit and active (went to the gym three times a week)
interested and motivated

Then we lost Starchild and everything, especially I, changed.  I have spent the last two and a half years:
getting progressively heavier and heavier and am now at the most I have ever weighed (BMI of 29 *gulp*)
going from being the most unhappy I have ever been to numbly dragging myself from one day to the next
unsure of everything
a couch potato
staring at either my laptop or TV in the evenings, not really taking that much in

I want to go back to at least some semblance of the woman that I was.  I spent last year almost drowing in sadness, I can't, and won't, do the same this year.

puthandu vazthukal

That's "happy new year" in Tamil.

I hope that 2011 brings you all peace and happiness.

yuletide

In the words of one of my favourite Christmas songs:

I wish you a hopeful Christmas
I wish you a brave New Year
All anguish, pain and sadness
Leave your heart and let your road be clear


(This is my favourite Christmas song though).

The candle I lit for my Little Stars this evening is also lit for Starchild, Bean, Snowflake, Eurydice and siblings, Baby Hurricane, Thomas and his siblings, lost ones and their grandfather and sadly so many more.

Wishing you all a peaceful Christmas.

because I can't say this out loud

Dear IRL friend,

I live in your world.  

I rejoiced for you when you met your wife and found yourself stepping in to a ready-made family.  I celebrated with you when your wife got pregnant with your biological child.  I read and replied your emails during your wait for fatherhood, I admired photos of your baby in utero and from across the miles I held your hand as you worried about whether you were really ready to be a parent.

I bought and sent gifts when your daughter was born, for her christening, for her first birthday.  I admired more photos, I asked the right questions, I responded to your letters which were all about your daughter and your step children in kind. 

I forgave you when you didn't write after I lost my precious Starchild, my darling Bean, my tiny Little Stars.

I live in your world.

I am struggling to adapt to a childless life.  I see pregnant women, parents, children, grandparents everywhere.  I concede summer and Christmas holidays to my colleagues who have children.  I cover for them when they need to take time off for plays and concerts and sports days and measles and tummy upsets.  My taxes help to pay for maternity leave and child support and free school meals.

I live in your world.  

I listen when people tell me I should just adopt or just relax or that some people just aren't meant to have children.  I laugh like it's funny when people tell me I can "have my kids for a day if you want, that'll change your mind", I agree I am so lucky I have more disposable income and that I can lie in bed on Sunday mornings and I can drink wine every night.  That I should get over it and move on.



I live in your world.

I remember your birthday, your wife's birthday, your stepchildren's birthdays, your daughter's birthday, your wedding anniversary.  I don't expect you to remember my exact loss dates or know my unfulfilled due dates, why should you?  They are just random days to you and I understand that.


But I wish that just this once, just this time, you had remembered that I lost my babies on Christmas Eve and you didn't send me a festive card made up of photos of your children.