• Jamie

Word Vomit (sorry in advance)

It’s been exactly three months since Raya came and left this world.

And today is exactly one month until her due date.

And it just occurred to me now that both of those dates were/are the 21st.


I hate when people ask how many kids I have.

The first time someone asked, I stared at them blank until it was just awkward enough for me to answer “not really” and walk away.

The second time someone asked, I said no.

Then 4 minutes later I promptly revisited the conversation she had clearly moved on from to retract my previous statement.

“Actually, I do have one kid. She’s in heaven, she was born in October”.


I hurt my back after my surgery.

They aren’t sure what caused the injury and, as of the x-rays they took last week, they have no idea what the issue is.

Meaning they aren’t sure how to tackle recovery.


So I can’t lift heavy.

And I couldn’t lift heavy during pregnancy or right after; now I hate even stepping into the gym.

I want to yell at everyone there that knew me before last summer.

So they know why I’m larger.

As if I need to justify why my body has changed.

But I think I do; because I don’t have a child to show for the alternate body I currently sport.

I just have weaker muscles and stretch marks.

And a hat I wear so low I almost miss a stair every time I leave.


I dealt with eating disorders and addiction for 10 years.

10 years of gaining and losing weight like a madman.

And I never once had stretch marks.

I have them now.


I’ve spent countless hours speaking with young girls about how their size doesn’t matter and stretch marks are something everyone has.

Now I see my stretch marks in the mirror and scold my body and wonder where it got the audacity to be anything larger than the size six jeans I buy from Abercrombie every year.


I run for 10 minutes begging my body to shrink itself back down, but I always end up walking the last two just in case by some miracle I’m pregnant and am going to gain weight again.

But that's never the case.


I’m probably going to lose my job.

I’ve started looking for a new one but I am either under or overqualified.

Because I never finished college.

Just like I never finished being pregnant.

And I know in my head those two things don’t coincide but at this moment it feels like everything I’ve done wrong is connected.


And I don’t even know how to end this because I might have more to say.

Or maybe ending blog posts is something they teach in the college class I didn’t get to.


My husband has now officially kicked me out of bed to the living room because I haven’t gotten my nails fixed in 4 weeks and the sound of me typing mimics hail pelting the ground.


So I’m out in the living room now and the dog is asleep too.

Because everyone is allowed to sleep except me.


All I know is that Gregg brought me home a Starbucks tea this afternoon and I don’t think I have ever been so grateful or excited for anything in the past 3 months.


And tomorrow, I will wake up and get another one.


Because in the midst of self-pity, I forgot to buy more contact solution, so I will need to go to Target.


And you can’t go to Target and not get a Starbucks.


That’s just rude.



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