I am happy not to be spending every waking moment with a painful, hormone-induced headache.
I am sad when I see my son's face and wonder what his brother would have looked like.
I am relieved that the terribly stressful period when we didn't know if our baby would live or die is over.
I am wondering how I will ever get through the month of June.
I am deeply touched by the supportive comments, emails, cards, flowers, plants, gifts, and food we've received.
I am thankful that I no longer have vicious nausea and heartburn 24/7.
I am discouraged that my body is flabby and lumpy with nothing to show for it.
Mostly, I just feel weird. I've never done this before and I don't know how to do it. For three years I had resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't be having any more babies. I got pretty good at living that way.
Then I was pregnant, and that felt like an altered state, an alternative reality. So not being pregnant feels like a return to normalcy. But denying my son's short life is most certainly not normal.
You see the dilemma.