I cried yesterday. It’s been a while since I did that. But, it was a full-on bawl fest complete with heaving and gulping, but no fist pounding. It had been a stressful week, what with the dog-eating-poo incident, work, not being to sit comfortably on my toosh due to the butt shots each night, and an unusual number of reminders recently of how hopeful we had been when we got pregnant the first time.
All of a sudden, it hit me that I missed my babies. And I cried for them, again. I cried for me, for Mr. X, for our parents, but mostly for those babies who we will never meet. I cried because we had so much hope, we thought we had finally escaped the bonds of infertility and rejoined the normal world, and we were so wrong. I cried because so many babies do survive, where ours did not. I still hurt.
I think I needed the catharsis, but it came on very suddenly. One minute I was petting the dog and the next I was bawling. But, better out than in and luckily I had forgotten to put on mascara that morning, so I had no tell-tale raccoon eyes when Mr. X came home about 30 minutes later.
I was driving today behind a Nissan Pathfinder with a Baby on Board sign thingy hanging in the back window. I remember when these first became popular when I was still a kid and even then I thought they were rather ridiculous. My opinion hasn’t changed, although now I amuse myself by trying to figure out what the practical purpose is to having one of those on there. Is it like the handicap placard that you pull out when you want to use the handicap space (which I saw yesterday)? Is it to tell people to be extra careful not to rear-end you? Is it to brag about your fertility? I purposely chose not to give much stock to that last one because it would just make my blood boil if it was true.
I just read the Wikipedia entry and it turns out my second guess was correct. It also quotes George Carlin, who departed this world way too soon, as opining that the phrase was made up of “the three most puke-inducing words that man has yet come up with”. Jumbo shrimp, George!
My maternal grandmother was one of four sisters. Three of the sisters married (including my grandmother), one did not. The one who did not lead a very interesting life before she died in the 1990s. Of all of her nieces and nephews, the spawn of her sisters, I’m pretty certain that she liked my mother and my uncle the best. Many of her amazing possessions that she amassed from her travels and living abroad made into our family after her death. I never saw the full inventory as I was in high school and So Important that I could not bother to look at everything. But, every now and then my mother shows me something, usually jewelry, with the statement, “Oh, that belonged to Aunt D”.
One item that I don’t think I had seen before was a lovely gold pendant in the Chinese symbol “Double Happiness” – my mother was about to auction it off to the highest bidder on eBay, but asked if I was interested. This was pretty soon after my second miscarriage and I knew immediately, that it was the perfect reminder of the now two babies we have lost – double happiness. It was double happiness to hear their little hearts beating away and to think that maybe they would join our world.
I haven’t worn it yet, though, because I don’t have a chain for it and I keep forgetting to measure what length I want. The sooner I do, though, the sooner I can have them close to my heart.