Stillborn - 91 days later - 3 months (I cry at restaurants)

Today we decided to get out of the house. You know, like we used to do BEFORE. Back when we were just Sonya and Tim, a married couple with no children. Carefree and could just go and enjoy.

It's different now. Everything is different now. I'm different, our house is different, Tim is different. Places I visit are split into a strange automatic question - The question says: The last time you were here were you pregnant? Was it before you were pregnant? Was it AFTER Faeryn was born? I'm not sure why this happens, but it is a constant. It's something that happens as I pull into parking lots, as I walk through doors. There is always a Before Faeryn and an After Faeryn. The hurtles are the ones where the last time I was there, and everything was okay. Those are my toughest ones. And then they turn into, Last time I was here was after she died. And that's how it will always stay.

We went out to eat tonight. Dinner and a movie at Tim's suggestion. This is something he loves, and I just like to get the hell away from my depressing house, so I'm game for anything.

We went to Outback. We've never been to this one. We bought movie tickets online with reserved seating and knew we had to be done eating by 7:00.
We were seated in the children's section.
No. That doesn't really exist, but if it did, that's where we were sat. Surrounded by toddlers and their parents. The past few days haven't really been AWFUL for me. I have days that I spend all day attempting not to cry, so I know what awful is. The past few days have been mediocre. I have cried. Once a day. And at this current time - 3 months into After Faeryn. I think that's pretty darn good. And by pretty darn good, I mean I could almost say I've been happy.

So we are sat and I look over and diagonal to my line of sight is a little girl. I would guess she's about 2. She has blond hair and blue eyes. She is very inquisitive and is waving and blowing kisses to her grandmother sitting across from her. I look at her mom, and she is blond, average to pretty. I look at the little girls dad, he is average to handsome and wears glasses. The little girl is standing between them smiling. You could feel the love the parents have for their child. They were smiling and paying attention to her. Including her into their discussions.
There were other kids surrounding us. Little boys and other little girls, but THIS ONE kept drawing me back to her. I saw the life in her little face. The life in her blue eyes. The tiny chubby hand as she blew kisses to her grandma.
She reminded me of Faeryn. Or should I say what my mind would make Faeryn look like at 2 years old. It also reminded me that I will never actually know the light in my little girls eyes, the smile on her face, I will never see her tiny chubby hand wave.

Faeryn had the cutest little hands. Perfectly formed little rosebud nails. She had momma's hands. She was so cold though, and I never felt them move or hold on.
Maybe all of this is why tears started falling. It was one of those moments that you almost panic. I would have gotten up and went to the bathroom, but I didn't know where that was - and to find out I would have either had to wander around the restaurant in tears or ask a server, while crying, where the restroom was.
So I attempted to just make myself stop. Stop looking and STOP CRYING. It didn't work. It was one of those times when crying just has to happen. It was one of those times when, even as I sat there and asked Tim to talk to me about ANYTHING, the tears still fell. One after another, after another. I had to look to the wall on my left and try to get it together. Think about something else - stop thinking about the fantasy Faeryn, stop thinking about her being gone, dead. Forever.

I had ordered a glass of wine with dinner and prayed that it would soon make its way over to our table. I don't drink. But I was looking forward to escaping some of the thoughts that were way too loud in my head at dinner. I've been attempting to fill my void. I've been filling it with unhealthy foods mostly. I am completely aware of this. I am also completely aware that this will not help any of the goals I would like to achieve. One being losing the pregnancy weight so that I can fit back into my clothes again. Another would be to feel better about myself. But late at night. When I'm alone and Tim is sleeping, that void opens up and the sadness is sitting there threatening to overwhelm me. Chocolate or desserts help for the moment. They press the sadness back down for the night, but that's always followed by the self-loathing and feeling of loss of control the next morning.

So this is where I am in my journey 91 days into the death of my daughter. Overeating. Staring at live children, wondering if their parents KNOW the pain that some of us feel. Crying in restaurants. Hating the way I look in the mirror. Not fitting into my clothes. Missing my little girl. Touching her urn at night, feeling the cold marble. Wishing she was here.

There are also days that I have laughed, and laughed hard. There was also a day that I think I had a panic reaction out of no where at work. There are good days and bad days - they come as they want whether I'm ready for them or not.

91 days in - I never thought I would make it this far. I couldn't see that far into the future 91 days ago. Everything stable ended then. It was survival mode, and I couldn't see the point of planning for my future as my future was ripped from my grasp in an instant. So unexpected. So very fast.

I have planned an escape for Tim and I. So I think that is a step forward too. We are going to Sanibel Island in August. I am attempting to plan again. We shall see if we make it. I sure hope so. I miss being naive. I miss expecting things to work out. But this is the new me. This is my new normal. I learn more every day.