There's something wrong in the state of Denmark… and I think I may be it.

Tag: work

Dejavu sucks…

So I’ve decided to come back to work and it’s kind of a mind fuck. Just over four weeks ago people were coming to my table, welcoming me back, looking at my pictures, welcoming me to the club and now they’re back only this time covered in a shadow of trepidation and pity.

Thankfully, there’s only been one who couldn’t hold back on her own emotions. Everyone else seems to be quite stoic. Not too many asking *the* question… “How’re you doing?”. I mean, my natural instinct is to say “Still shitty thanks. Still a mother to no son. Still so full of guilt and resentment that I’m not sure I’ll ever be me again.” but what I do say is “Fine.” and that seems to placate. On that note, is placation my job now? Feels like it may be. 

Very importantly, I’m not entirely sure what I should be doing.

I have my headphones on and a playlist playing. Every five songs or so I wonder if this was a good idea as music has this unfortunate ability to raise the most chest crushing emotions – it always has with me. But I have come to work armed with medication, a phoney smile and a deadlocked spine that I refuse to let cave.

I’m paging through emails I don’t care about and generally avoiding eye contact in case someone asks me to do something. I suppose it’s easy to not know what you’re supposed to be doing in this circumstance. I’ve lost the plot on most of our client projects and, while I’m sure I’ll get back into it, it all just seems a bit futile. A bit mundane. So small in comparison to my reality, which is one where the only thing that matters is that instead of going home today crying because I’m so excited to be seeing my son and taking him for his early evening walk around the complex I’ll be going home and just crying.

Maybe I should just take that walk anyway.

On the life side of things, we’re managing. The only time I can’t seem to grapple with my tears in public is when I see mums and their babies. But there’s no hiding from them.

The three little lessons I keep repeating to myself and that, who knows, may help someone else in this situation are as follows:

1. Be patient with others

2. Be kind to yourself

3. Breathe

In other news: We’ve had an amazing response to our fund raising efforts – for those who don’t know, I’m raising funds that I want to donate to initiatives that raise awareness around CHDs – and a very special friend has given us advertising space in quite a few local papers. I’ve been avoiding this project all day and promised him fodder by this evening so probably should get onto it at some point. The problem is they’ll want copy and a picture. Should I be pasting photos of my dead son in local newspapers to raise funds for other people? I don’t know.


It’s official… I’m a troll…

I’m a sound sleeper. Always have been (aside from a few times in life where small sounds have woken me easily but this generally coincides with big change – moving in with the man of the moment, starting a new job, finding out you’re pregnant – and have been hardly surprising.

So, you’ll understand the shock I felt when, one night last week, I snored myself awake. How loudly do you have to be snoring to wake the dead?

And yes, snoring is bad enough but it hasn’t ended there.

If I relax too much during waking hours I snore whilst I’m awake too.

Nick is basically sleeping on the couch and I don’t blame him and I’m semi sleeping in the bedroom because one warning dollied out by various sites has proven to be true – I’m just too uncomfortable to sleep through these days. I flop from one side of my body to the other, dragging my tummy and its pillow around with me. I wake up in a panic on my back thinking I’ve killed the baby (apparently sleeping on your back is a HUGE no no at this point in the pregnancy) and yet have never felt as much physiological relief as I do when I’m prone, face up, staring at the ceiling.

Yes ma’am… this truly is the most glorious time of a woman’s life.

Two PSs:

PS1: Some of the reactions to last week’s blog and the fact that Sniffy McSnortenson is the SWEETEST person in the land has left me feeling a little guilty. I do love the lady I was referring to in last week’s blog most dearly. I just hate coughing more.

PS2: My colleagues are awesome: following my Vadge being kicked by a Moose post, I came in to work to find this presticked to my desk divider…