So, I have reached a pit stop in the travelling for the moment, and I’m reflecting on the experiences I’ve had so far.  It usually takes me a while to distill things (big things, that is), so they become more than just isolated chunks of time.  I don’t want to start sounding too Morrisey, so I’ll move it along here.  I’ve managed to move past my miscarriage.   Huge loss – emotionally and financially. I wouldn’t say I’ve built a (big) wall, but maybe I kind of have? I’ve spent a lot of time observing families in action lately, other people’s and my own.   I know if I keep seeing my dreams of a family shatter right before my eyes every day, I’ll never get out of bed again.  There are triggers everywhere.  Pregnant women, adorable babies, families holding hands – you know.  We all know.  Ain’t no getting away from it.   The triggers are forever, and we just have to deal.    I’ve managed to be truly happy on occasion since my loss, and I can’t help but think that maybe it’s a sign.  The better I function, the more I think maybe the universe is telling me that motherhood isn’t my stop.  That it really isn’t meant to be.  And the only way that I know (I hope) it isn’t true is that my throat closes up when I think that.   Is it bad that I can see life either way?

I’ve always been practical to a fault.  I do not depend on anyone else easily (took us forever to get married), don’t put all my eggs in one basket (pardon the pun) – I don’t even like to ask for directions.  I wrote lab reports so often in college that if someone asked me to submit a 500 word essay, I’d be hard pressed to come up with more than 2 sentences, though I’m working on it (yet another reason for the blog).  I’m not as bad as Bones (love that show) but I do have my moments.

The point, you ask?  Well……  D had an uncle pass away over Labor Day weekend.  Really a good, nice guy.  D doesn’t visit or call his family much, I’ve spent time with them on only a couple of occasions.  Don’t even really remember this man.  But the effect he had on the family was so apparent.  This person was such a positive presence in all their lives, and he didn’t have a good death and it just really, really sucked all the way around.  Funerals are bad enough, but funerals in the rain just are particularly unjust.  Or maybe not – the deceased is likely laughing his ass off at the skirts flying and the dripping hair and the umbrellas turning inside out.  Guess you have to give them that – they’ve earned at least a laugh at the expense of the living.

The visitation was Monday evening.  There was a short service and then, you know, visiting.  One relative (no clue who) brought her child who was maybe 9 or 10 months old.   Cute, cute kid with a bow stuck to an elastic band on her head – made her look like a little present.  She was just smiling and looking around, like they do.  One of D’s aunts got her and was bouncing the baby on her lap, caught my eye and said loudly (she was across the room), “Awwwwwww, you need one of these!!”  They have no idea what’s been going on, of course.  But I had an answer ready – I’d prepared, you see.  I yelled back, “We’re waiting for them to go on sale!”.  There was much laughter and more bouncing and kidding and then the kid was being brought closer and was looking me full in the face and burst loudly into tears.  Which made the whole room laugh that much harder.  I was laughing, but deep down I was just horrified, crushed.   I know she was just hungry/wet/tired/overstimulated but, well, shit.  I almost felt like I’d been slapped.  No matter how far you think you’ve come with infertility,  it’s just lurking there like a shark, isn’t it.  Waiting for another opportunity to take another chunk out of your ass.

Fuck.

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