I thought I was doing pretty well last week. I had reached the point where my trip somewhere wasn’t ruined by the sight of a lady with the tell-tale bulge. I was calm, serene – but the dam had to burst sometime.
Things started to unravel Friday afternoon. I hadn’t slept well all week, I was working extremely hard on a project at work that is easily the most important of my career (no pressure!) that also happened to be extremely challenging, all while trying to make the most of my ‘down time’ at night with self-improvement and overall creativity. Needless to say, by the time Friday rolled around, I was exhausted – mentally and physically. I suspect that this set me up for being unable to handle all of the crap that was thrown at me.
First, on Friday I realized that come the beginning of next month, it will have been Three Long Years since we officially threw out the birth control and began planning who was going to take our new little urchin to day care. No matter how I looked at it, I could not see the positives – all I could see was that three years later, it’s still just me, the guy and the furry beasts. Sure I can get pregnant! Sure my tubes are clear! So far, it hasn’t done me a damn bit of good. I found this utterly depressing.
Friday night we went out with some friends to a local festival. Upon arriving, what is the first thing I see? Very pregnant ladies. Two of them, in fact. Couple that will all of the homeless kitties we saw in the park, and I was in a sad state.
Saturday, we go out to lunch and pick the restaurant mainly based on the fact that it has outdoor dining since it was a gorgeous day. This time, the hostess was pregnant and there was a very pregnant (and extmremely chic) lady there as well. Oh, and the hair salon has a very pregnant stylist (not mine) who had to walk back and forth in front of me. Am I destined to have this thrown in my face? I was officially getting discouraged and depressed.
Today, we went to the grocery store – the new one up the street that I hate with a passion reserved usually for the worst of the worst – and wouldn’t you know it? Our checker was pregnant. And, I passed a woman talking to another woman about how she started to show immediately. Plus, one infant, and several six-ten month olds. I think I have officially reached my breaking point.
Talk about hitting you when you’re down – I was already feeling depressed this weekend and then I just keep being reminded of the two babies I have lost and the fact that I can’t even make it to the bulging stage. I want to be as big as a house! I don’t want to be able to see my feet, I want to complain that I look like a whale because all of it means that I’m pregnant with a sentient being who kicks and sleeps and belches, all in my tummy – who will arrive with my eyes and his nose and look like all of the ancestors that we’ve ever had.
I know that there is an ebb and tide of grief – just like there are hills and valleys in life. I know that last week was the ebbing and this weekend was the tide. It just hurts so much, but there is no detour, no way around it. And, better out than in.
I still wish, though, that I could reach that point where it didn’t bother me. I suspect, though, that it’s like most things – some days you can and some days you can’t. These just happened to be “can’t” days.