I wrote a post on grief and mourning and then decided not to share those words today after all.
Then I picked a portion of something I wrote in my journal and decided not to share that either.
Then I chose a quote by Mary Shelley. Did you know she lost her one year old and her 3 year old? No wonder she wrote about monsters.
Anyway, I decided against every well thought out caption for this photo, because when I look at it, all I can think about are the comments that will flood in about how adorable and chubby he is.
Yes, he is adorable and chubby. But not this chubby. This wasn’t just precious baby chub, earned by a good latch, a suckling babe, and impressive milk supply.
This was water weight that he carried because his body wasn’t functioning well enough to flush it out. The day before this, he weighed 7lbs. In this moment, he weighed 9lbs.
He eventually was able to clear out the water weight, but I look at this photo and can’t help but feel jealous. Jealous and sad.
Jealous of these tubes that nourished my son, when it should’ve been me. I should’ve been able to take the credit for his chubbiness- for real, chunky rolls that would eventually appear instead of this artificial marshmallow fluff that appeared overnight and would vanish the next day.
And sad, that he couldn’t fully heal so I could bring him home to continue our breastfeeding relationship, to help him grow with nothing but my own body.
So, here we are. No pretty, edited words to express where I’m at today. Just the incoherent ramblings of a grieving mother. Or to put it more eloquently, word vomit.