4 months ago I lost my job. We were told our team was relocating to the Chicago office and our choice was to commute there or hit the bricks. Since commuting 4 hours per day is not something I was willing to do, I cashed the severance check and pulled Teddy out of daycare all but 2 days per week.
At first I was going nuts. I didn't have a schedule, a routine. I didn't know what to do with myself. I've been working since I was 15. 12 if you count babysitting. Teddy was off of his schedule too. It was rough. No one was happy. And added to that was the stress of there not being a lot movement in the job market just before Thanksgiving. It was stressful.
But then something happened. Teddy and I, we hit our stride. We got comfortable. We bonded a lot (I'm totally his favorite now - sorry not sorry!)
See here's the thing. When Hannah died I went crazy trying to "fix" us all. Trying to make us whole. I hopped from therapist to therapist trying to find the answers that I needed. The magic words that would make us "OK." Obviously, that didn't happen. So I did the next best thing. I got pregnant.
I was so certain I was going to have a girl and while she wouldn't be Hannah, she would help us mend and make us happy again. She would bring back the laughter and a music. We were going to be ok!
I cried when I found out Teddy was a boy. I am not proud of that now, but it felt like losing Hannah all over again. I sat on the couch, read the test results from my doctor and instead of celebrating the healthy little boy, I mourned my lost girl.
During the whole pregnancy I stayed detached. Worried, panicked and yet oddly detached. When delivery day came I was calm until I got into the operating room. Then I Lost. My. Shit. It was the same room where I delivered Hannah. Everything came flooding back in an instant and I begged to leave. I pleaded for them to stop. I said I couldn't do it. I cried and threw up and had a baby anyway. (Again, Dr Epstein and Nurse Sherry, my apologies and you two are amazing).
Then handed me my sweet bundle of baby boy. All 7lbs 4oz of sweet newborn and I pleaded with them to take him back. "I'm going to drop him" I claimed. But I wasn't going to drop him. I was terrified of him.
That terror lasted. "PTSD" my doctor said. Still I was afraid. The label didn't help. "It's not post partum, it's PTSD" said my therapist and suggested I up my antidepressants. Still no relief.
At home, Teddy thrived despite his bad luck in drawing me as his mother. And for some reason, he loved me. He was an easy baby, who just wanted to be held. I was a horrible mother who just wanted to set him down. I couldn't bond. I loved him, I knew it. But I was afraid to feel it, to experience it. I was waiting, I realized, for the rug to be pulled out from underneath ne again. I did not trust fate. I did not trust our luck. I believed the worst would happen. I guarded my heart.
Eventually I realized Teddy only wanted Brent. He was Daddy's boy. Quite the opposite of his big brother. But he knew I was a hot mess. He's always been a smarty. He grew into a toddler that by his first birthday did not want to cuddle or be held. I broke him.
I realized the mistakes I had made. I regretted them with all my heart. I regret them still. But slowly I reached out to Teddy. And I'll never forget the feeling of pure joy when I got my first unsolicited hug from my sweet boy.
And now? Now I've had a chance to redo the maternity leave that I barely remember. Losing my job has given me my boy back. Teddy and I can cuddle and watch Cars. Or play with cars. Or go the library and have conversations and run errands and just be together. I can hug on him all day long. And he actually likes it now. When he falls down, he wants his mommy. When he is dancing he wants me to dance with him. When he giggles, he wants me to giggle too. Losing my job has been stressful but so worth it. I lost my job, but I found my son.
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