13 days

In 13 days my beautiful boys will be 6 months old. That’s half a year. There is much they’d be doing right now. I can’t handle the thoughts that have been going in my head. Every time I see a picture of my boys I tear up. I look at their urn and it rebreaks my heart. 

People are expecting me to act normal and not to have any sort of emotions anymore because it’s been “so long”. I’m sorry I can’t turn my emotions off. I’m sorry I’m not my old self. I shouldn’t have to explain that I had part of me ripped out. 

It’s the worse part about making friends with new people. Saying you five kids and only three are with you. My hatred for Fridays are becoming more apparent. All I want to do is lay in bed and sleep the day away. I don’t want to deal with Friday’s. I want Fridays wiped off the stupid calender. 

I’ve had so many miscarriages and each one is worse then the other. I don’t even tell people if I get pregnant because it’s just going to end badly. With the boys I was surprised when I hit my second and third trimester. I thought I was in the clear when I was at 32 weeks. I mean most twins are born around that time. 

But the fates apparently have a sick fucking sense of humor. “Let’s get her to almost full term and yank those babies from her and fuck her up real good this time. ” I know I’m bitter. I know I’m angry and depressed. I know I can put on a good front to look happy because people are tired of me crying all the time. 

I mean I have two preemies and a 36 weeker. I’ve never made it to 40 weeks with my kids, but really? I can have two preemies and they’re perfect now. But I get further with the twins then two of them and they pass away?! How the hell does that make any sort of damn sense. 

I hate Fridays. 


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