What's the point?

I mean seriously, what * is * the * point?

I eat all this natural and organic food.
I have stayed on bedrest (with the exception of the rare outing here or there) for the last 140 some odd days!
I won't allow myself to indulge in anything that has ever been even remotely linked negatively to pregnancy/children/fetuses/cancer/fertility/development/etc. etc. etc.

I do these things and I just can't help but wonder, what's the point in trying when my house has decided to go to total sh*t over the last month, and every day it seems I am finding myself being exposed to something else?

Something harmful.

A few weeks ago it was the gasoline fumes.

Then the mercury.

Now today we had a plumber, and an incompetent one at that, who decided that even though I was out of the house ALL day so as to avoid any fumes, dust, etc. as he was working, he should hold off on doing any of his gluing or soldering until I got home.

So really, what the hell is the point to even trying?

Clearly this universe is amused at the joke it is making of my sanity.
Amused - and cruel.

I was at my NST yesterday, listening as the nurses explained to the woman beside me that her child's fluid was low because of all the soda she was drinking.

I sat quietly as they called in a dietitian who detailed for her and her husband/partner/boyfriend why it was NOT okay to eat only junk food and that she needed to take a vitamin. Yet, when asked if this baby was her first, the woman (who I am sure has always exercised the same level of care in every pregnancy) told them that no, she already had two children at home.

Two living (and yes I know I am assuming here) healthy children despite the fact that she has done NOTHING to try to provide them with good prenatal care.

So what's the point to any of it?

I am driving myself crazy trying everything * possible * under * the  * sun to bring these babies into this world healthy, and life keeps spitting hazard after hazard into my face.

I just feel so exhausted. 

Plain and simple. 

So
Exhausted.

Defeated.

Disheartened. 

What's the point?

I mean seriously, what * is * the * point?

I eat all this natural and organic food.
I have stayed on bedrest (with the exception of the rare outing here or there) for the last 140 some odd days!
I won't allow myself to indulge in anything that has ever been even remotely linked negatively to pregnancy/children/fetuses/cancer/fertility/development/etc. etc. etc.

I do these things and I just can't help but wonder, what's the point in trying when my house has decided to go to total sh*t over the last month, and every day it seems I am finding myself being exposed to something else?

Something harmful.

A few weeks ago it was the gasoline fumes.

Then the mercury.

Now today we had a plumber, and an incompetent one at that, who decided that even though I was out of the house ALL day so as to avoid any fumes, dust, etc. as he was working, he should hold off on doing any of his gluing or soldering until I got home.

So really, what the hell is the point to even trying?

Clearly this universe is amused at the joke it is making of my sanity.
Amused - and cruel.

I was at my NST yesterday, listening as the nurses explained to the woman beside me that her child's fluid was low because of all the soda she was drinking.

I sat quietly as they called in a dietitian who detailed for her and her husband/partner/boyfriend why it was NOT okay to eat only junk food and that she needed to take a vitamin. Yet, when asked if this baby was her first, the woman (who I am sure has always exercised the same level of care in every pregnancy) told them that no, she already had two children at home.

Two living (and yes I know I am assuming here) healthy children despite the fact that she has done NOTHING to try to provide them with good prenatal care.

So what's the point to any of it?

I am driving myself crazy trying everything * possible * under * the  * sun to bring these babies into this world healthy, and life keeps spitting hazard after hazard into my face.

I just feel so exhausted. 

Plain and simple. 

So
Exhausted.

Defeated.

Disheartened. 

I hate grief.

I hate the way it leaves me feeling vulnerable and exposed.

I can't go into what happened today, but I got the sense that someone used the sadness of my story for their own benefit and it just makes my stomach turn.

Maybe they did.

Maybe they didn't.

Either way that's the feeling I was left with.

The feeling of being used.

I hate grief.

I hate that I have never mastered the art of sugar coating my feelings about what happened to Peyton.

My daughter was born very, very sick.

My daughter suffered a tremendous amount in her short life.

My daughter died, struggling for breath, in my arms.

How the hell do you sugar coat that?

How do you sugar coat that for the rest of your life you are going to miss this little being who could have and should have been somebody?

Who could have and should have been given the same shot at life as the rest of us?

Yes my life is full of many joys.

Yes I am grateful for the blessings that each day brings.

Yes I am looking to the future with a renewed sense of hope.

No that does not erase what happened to Peyton, or the fact that her absence is permanent.

I hate grief.

I hate that I can't hide my grief, even when I want to.

I hate that if a stranger learns of what happened, and asks me about my daughter, I am going to cry.

Why do I do that?

A stranger is not worthy of my tears.

I have earned my tears.

In every hope I had for her, and fear I felt for her while she was here.

In every terrible decision that had to be made.

In every moment of this life that I should be sharing with my daughter but can't because she now lives in the cold earth.

I have earned my right to my tears.

A stranger has not.

I hate grief.

I hate the judgement that sometimes comes in that moment.

I hate when they say, "I am sorry," 

but their eyes say "You still cry over this?", 

or their tone says, "What is wrong with you?"

I hate grief. 

I hate that the only thing I have had to cling to through this journey is my honesty, and today I felt like someone twisted that honesty into something else, something perverse.

I hate that my tongue got tied in that moment, and what I wanted to do was scream and tell them how inappropriate they were, or that it must be nice to live in a world where the worst day of my life is just another bonus to something they were trying to accomplish, but I couldn't. 

I froze.

I hate grief.

All of it.

I hate that people can't get that grief IS what it is.

The definition is "a reaction to a major loss." 

That's what grief is.

I hate that people always want to put some damn title on it.

They want to summarize it so they can feel more comfortable about it and separate themselves from it.

Depression.

Weakness.

The inability to move on.

"Oh I don't have that," they can tell themselves,

 or,

"I've never been in your shoes, but if I were, I am sure I would handle it better."

I hate grief.

I hate the stigma that surrounds grieving a baby.

I want to know what exactly society considers a "normal" and acceptable response to losing your child?

Pretending she never existed?

Would that be a more "normal" response?

Or just more convenient?

Either way, if you see the devaluing of the life of a child as "normal," and grieving their absence as "abnormal," then you are the one with the problem, not me.

I hate grief.

I hate it more than anyone watching me go through it ever could.

Grief is messy. 

It is tiring. 

It is forever.

Not the darkest days of course. 

Nothing compares to those early darkest days.

But if you somehow think that a year or two years or ten years or fifty years later, my daughter's life should no longer matter to me anymore, than I don't want to associate with you.

I do not see her as any less deserving of my love because her life was brief.

If you do, than I consider that your shortness of character, not mine.

I hate grief.

I hate feeling like I have done something wrong for experiencing it.

My child died.

I didn't seek that out.

It happened to me.

Nothing about this is a choice.

If I could, I would go back to September 3, 2008.

I was 42 weeks pregnant.

I was excited for her arrival.

I had no idea what was to come.

My life was so good.

The implication that any part of grief is a choice frustrates me.

I hate grief.

Most of all, for making me defend it.