So the other day I had an epic meltdown, which isn't advisable when you're trapped in your house with two feet of snow outside. On the good side, I helped some elderly neighbors shovel their driveway. On the bad side, it's a day later, my body is achey and I feel just as out of sorts as I did 24 hours ago.
Let's backtrack. Imagine you're perusing some pictures on facebook. I know many of my dear readers are smarter than me and have gotten the hell off of the facebooks, but leaving that aside...
You're on facebook and you see a picture posted by an old dear friend whom you rarely see anymore, because she got a new job. But she still occassionally texts, and likes your limited array of posted social media pictures. And she sometimes even texts you that she misses you.
And she was one of the few people who knows that in fact, you're a fucking infertility superhero, like batman, except you have no cape and no ears, and no real superpowers actually, but she is one of the few who knows your double life. Because by day you are the smart chick at work who balances the job and the Niblet, but by night you are the lady who has mourned 5 of Niblet's siblings. And she knows about Celine. She may not know about the baby after Celine, but she knows that you have been through hell and back.
And she posts a picture of a beautiful baby, and you catch your breath, wait, actually, you can't breathe, because in all of the light-hearted occassional hellos and texts, she has neglected to tell you that she was pregnant and whoa, had a baby girl in December.
Sometimes I wish that I had fertile readers. I love you all, my dearest friends who are with me in this pit of hell of loss, but man, it's times like this that I wish I had readers who knew nothing personally about miscarriage, or Asherman's, or partial molar pregnancies or TFMR, because I could try to impress upon this audience that HIDING YOUR BABY is probably the worst thing you can do to people like me.
But God, sweet Jesus, I wish she would have sent a note. A gentle heads up. Because bursting into tears when you are checking your phone in front of your one living daughter, isn't a state of being I wish on anyone.