Ghosts of Winter Clothes Past

I have been feeling this déjà vu thing for a while now. Reminders of my pregnancy with Baby H feel all around me as we enter the season of his conception and my pregnancy. There are some seasonal reminders of walking through slushy streets and remembering being so afraid last year of slipping and falling with my precious cargo on board (I actually started to cancel sessions on snowy days, even those that were not really so bad to keep me off the streets). I thought of that as I made way through the streets today, piled with snow from the storm this weekend. But mostly my reminders come from my clothes, weird right? Let me explain.

I never purchased maternity clothes, but having made it to 15 weeks, I certainly was not fitting into my regular clothes (probably for me from week 10 on). I settled for leggings and long sweaters most days. Some already part of my regular wardrobe and others that I purchased knowing that I would need some room for my expanding belly. There were even some bought right after the loss, to carry me through until I fit back into my clothes again, after not being able to stand wearing the same 4 things over and over again. As time marched on and I started to heal, spring approached and I packed up those sweaters and tops and hid them away with the rest of my winter stuff, tucked in the open corners of my apartment and under my bed (if you live in NYC you understand the need to use every square inch of space you got). A few months ago, those sweaters came back out, replacing the t-shirts and tank tops that had been in my drawers.

Every time I wear one of “those” sweaters, I have a flash back. What I wore to my RE pregnancy scan appointments, which shirt was on for my first meeting with my new OB. I have a distinct memory of wearing a sweater vest over a long sleeve t-shirt and unbuttoning the vest to show my father my belly just starting to poke out. If I remember correctly, he started to tear up. I know what I wore to my NT scan and remember trying to re-button myself and put myself back together after getting such devastating news.

I have thought about throwing this stuff out, not wanting to literally wear the memories on my body, but I haven’t. I continue to wear these clothes, although this season with belts or in a draping way rather than in an attempt to cover things up like last year. There is only one thing that I threw away. It is the sweat shirt that I wore to the hospital on the day of my D&E. Most of my hoodies are white or black, very nondescript as they look exactly like each other and become my uniform at the gym or what I put on with lounge pants around my house. But, this one was grey with colorful flowers on it. I am not sure why I pulled that out, maybe it was on top or was more roomy than some of the others, I have no idea. But, I know I was wearing it that day. I kept it for months after and continued to wear it, each time feeling that dull stab of memory, until one day I just took it off and put it in the garbage. That is strange for me, to not recycle or donate clothing items, but the garbage was where I felt it belonged.

It is weird that I am writing this today, as this post has been swimming in my head for a while  and I am wearing a new cardigan right now, purchased just a few weeks ago and holding no particular memories or meaning. I think my thoughts have been on my pregnancy a lot recently, oddly more so than my baby these days. That time feels oddly disjointed and dream like to me, so my memories of it mimic that as they are disconnected and non-linear, tons of gaps. Yet, it is all around me, in my closet, in my drawers, on my body. I worry how I am going to feel as February turns to March and then to April. Perhaps, I will be so wrapped up in my next cycle that it will not be so bad. I’m not sure. I just know that things feel kind of weird right now and lonely and off. I can’t really explain it exactly….

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Wishing you all the best of everything in 2011. Thank you for pulling me through this past year. I have never been so happy to say goodbye to a year. Farwell 2010, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.