I was in a real funk on Sunday. It’s bad enough to be in a funk, but on a day when you are supposed to be out having fun is even worse. Part of it was because I didn’t have much quality time with Sweetie for the several days preceeding Sunday, but most of it was because of those damn little unexpected sadnesses that you get from infertility. I got three on Sunday. Ouch.
It started off as I was reading the Sunday paper wedding and anniversary page. I love reading the anniversaries announcements because they sometimes have the “before” and “after” pictures (the wedding picture and the now picture). It’s so interesting to see how people have aged and of course, what they were wearing at the wedding. I can’t wait for the first round of 1960s weddings and the pictures that come from those.
For the very first time reading the paper, I saw faces I recognized. It was a couple that I knew in college – they were in graduate school and I was a bookish freshman in an upper level humanities course. The woman befriended me and easily taught me how to really do well in college. But, they were always a little weird. I remember receiving their Christmas letter one year and it was all about what books they were reading and what they were thinking. To me at the time, it was a little eccentric. Even back then I pegged them as childfree people because they were so absorbed in each other and their studies. And there, in their 20th wedding anniversary announcement, is the news that they had a child. Un-freakin-believable. Of course, I told myself, they could have adopted. They were already well on their way to middle age by the time I met them, so that is very possible. But really, of all the people to have a child and for me to see in the paper on a Sunday while I’m drinking my tea!
Then, I go to a completely different friend’s Flickr page and see a picture of some of our friends (who I haven’t seen in a while) with their toddler who they conceived shortly after we grandly announced that we were starting to try back in 2005. This kid is a perfect living timeline of my failure (and a tow-headed blondie to boot. Absolutely adorable). Again, totally unexpected.
Already my day looked like it was tanking fast, so I went to that one place that I find great solace: the fabric store. Looking at fabrics is quite therapeutic for me and normally does the trick, but not this time. Why? Because one of the sales clerks (they all know me, I need a lot of therapy) beckoned me to come and see the new fabrics they had in. And, of course, they’re baby fabrics (really adorable). Ugh.
I made the mistake of mentioning that I needed to make a baby quilt soon and the very perky, young lady said, “oh are you expecting?” Double ugh. If there had been a wall available, I would have gladly hit my forehead on it. Repeatedly. “No”, I said, lamely. “I need to make a quilt for a friend who’s having a baby.” After getting my fat quarters, I just slunk home and caught up reading my O magazines (yes, even I have bad magazine habits) hoping that maybe Oprah could cheer me up. She didn’t.