Damn girl, that's a lot of fattitude

On Valentine’s Day my husband bought me the most beautiful roses and wrote me a love letter. It was the perfect gift. In his love letter he wrote about how proud of me he was for how I’ve handled our loss. How he recognizes the bond between mother and child is like none other. How he loves me and always will. I wrapped my arms around him and fell to pieces. Something changes in you when you have a miscarriage. A little piece of you is forever lost. Your heart is forever a little heavier. I’d be lying if I said there still aren’t days where I cry and grieve for my little one that will never be. Nobody talks about it. They just want to talk about if you’re trying again and how that’s going. We are trying, but no luck so far. I’m throwing baby showers. I’m attending baby showers. It feels like every one I know is pregnant – just not me.  Salt in the wound. It’s been nearly 4 months since we gained our angel, but it still feels like yesterday, honestly.  There is what they call the “Two Week Wait” after you ovulate where your body is doing work and it may or may not happen. Time moves insanely slow and then your period shows up and everything falls apart all over again. My period showed up on Saturday and after Kevin held me long and tight in his arms I realized I can’t keep doing this cycle. I can’t keep living my life on hold.

Sunday I took some good steps:

I made really good food choices at the grocery store and even prepped:

I decided to start doing my Project 30 Days: Get Your Shit Together again, so I laid all of my running clothes out for the week:

I even put my sneakers, headphones and hoodie on the stairs for the 5am runs:

And then Sunday night I got hit smack in the head with a horrible migraine. The kind of migraine that knocks your ass on the floor and stops all form of living. I spent most of the night wrapped around the toilet vomiting. The pain is so horrific that I puke. When I wasn’t wrapped around the toilet I was curled in the fetal position in my bed. I spent all of Monday there. I actually physically did not get out of my bed until 6pm.  And then went to back to bed at about 845pm.

The good news it that this happened at 5am today:

I went on my first 5am run SWOG since the miscarriage. Swogging is a speed walking jog. I’d like to think I swog with swag. My pace is horrific, but I did it. I did it.

Life is too short to live it on hold. Progress, not perfection.