Or in my case, a burnt quesadilla.
I thought that I had been doing pretty good the past few weeks. I've been trying my best to stay positive, to be grateful for everything that I have, and not to focus on what I lost. I thought it had been working pretty well.
Please don't misunderstand me, I was not trying to ignore or suppress my grief. At least not intentionally. I understand that this is a process and there will be good days and bad days. But yesterday I surprised myself.
I was making myself a quesadilla in the oven. I got sidetracked, and I started to smell burning. I pulled the quesadilla out and it was scorched. And then I started to cry.
I KNEW I was overreacting. At first I thought, what is wrong with me? I'll just make another one. Stop crying!
But then I realized what I was really crying about. And I let myself feel it. I leaned my elbows on the counter, put my head in my hands, and let it all out.
I think it was the disappointment that set it off. That feeling that I had attempted to create something and failed at it. Even though it was so minor, I think that feeling was my trigger.
I haven't consciously been paying attention to the weeks as they go by. I'm not sure exactly what week gestation I would be now. But I know that I would be right around the time where I would find out if I was having a boy or a girl.
But instead I'm crying over burnt quesadillas, with an empty womb, and not much hope to speak of.
Grief takes time. Healing takes time. I'm not sure how much time it will take, but I'm sure I will have hard moments for months or even years to come. Especially as we get closer to my due date. Or as I watch other women in my life who are pregnant, see their bellies swell, and look down at mine and wonder what could have been.