Crying Over Spilled Milk (no, really)

I've had my blog open many nights, countless mornings, staring at it blank posts. I have so much to say about what happened, but I have no idea how to say it. I know something has to be said because I remember no matter how hard I tried to compress my milk, it still comes out. It's a perfect metaphor for my feelings- no matter how hard I tried to keep it to myself, they'll still come out. I would never want anyone to go through what I went through, but at the same time I want someone to understand. 

After going through a 25 hour labor, dealing with a painful recovery and then the heartbreak of a son, I feel a little bit like superwoman. When I run errands, people have no idea what I've been through and the casual chit-chat at the Target check out keeps me on my toes. I know the checker knew I was pregnant, will she ask if I had the baby? Sometimes I can look at people in the face and tell them with confidence about Max. It was a cord accident that couldn't be prevented, I gave birth to him after his demise and we're okay. Other times, I can't make eye contact and I fall apart for days at the smallest mention of him. Because it's not just the smallest mention. It's a huge reminder of him and there is nothing small about his memory.