It has been one month since I gave birth to my son.
I am not usually a fan of 1, 3, or even 6-month “anniversaries.” Because, you know, an anniversary is an annual event. But I would have definitely celebrated every one of Steven’s milestones. His first week. His third month. His half year. All of it.
There are still some friends who ask me how I’m doing. I’m grateful, for sure, but I also don’t know how to answer that anymore. I’m always sad, but at least I’m not crying every single day anymore, so I guess I am doing okay. Some days are better than others, but I’m still heartbroken. I think I’m going to be heartbroken forever. There are days when I’m doing my thing when I suddenly realize, “I’m supposed to be taking care of a baby.” which then turns to, “Wait, no, I’m actually supposed to still be pregnant.” Then I cry a little bit, or I cry a lot. And then I stop crying because I have to move on with my day. I still have writing deadlines to make, house chores to do, and now a dog to take care of. I am always tired, but I have to keeping moving.
Whenever someone asks if I’m okay, I don’t know what to say because I don’t want to burden them with my forever-sadness. And that’s exactly what it is: forever-sadness. I’m going to be sad forever. I’m going to miss my son forever. I’m going to feel his absence forever. I’m going to think about him forever.
This past month has passed by so fast, yet it also felt like an eternity. Life is just moving on and dragging me along.