Didn't die

It's sort of shocking to realize that when Sarah died, I didn't die.  Because that's sort of like what it felt like. Except I was still there. And my family still needed me.

I'm not sure how people can go on, after the death of a child, without a family. Without a partner. Without someone to hold them tight and to tell them that it is horrific but you'll continue on, together.

It's January 1st, so of course there are resolutions.  It's totally warp-y in my head to realize that I'm only 8 weeks postpartum and already in the mindset to lose the baby weight. A new baby, nursing on demand, has always been a grateful respite from even contemplating exercise at this point in the game. I have no excuse. And in fact, have every reason in the world to get back into the shape I was a year ago. Where I could run. And not feel like I was going to die.

So that's where the resolution starts.  Regular exercise. Counting calories so I can feel good about the evening chocolate and occasional glass of wine, rather than feeling bad.

The next piece of the puzzle are all the Things that I hold onto that don't actually bring me joy. So many items that have just been shuffled from one pile to the next, rather than making a decision about tossing, keeping or donating.  I'm not going to make the hard decisions, like baby items. But if the item hasn't made me happy, I'm not going to hold onto it.  Free it goes. Because it will likely make someone else feel way better than me.

And the third resolution is to live. Like many people, I'm my own worst enemy. I'm overly cautious and can talk myself out of something that isn't quite perfect. In timing, in location, in convenience. And the result is that I lose out by deciding too soon that it has already missed my expectations.

If I had died and Sarah had lived, I would have wanted her to go on and live her life to the fullest.  I can only imagine that she would want the same for me, too. So that's what we're going to try - living.