This past Saturday marked Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.
This October 15th I happened to be working. And when my work day ended, I somehow found myself in the company of my best friend at work - who is pregnant again - and playing on the floor with her one year old daughter, and her daughter's three young cousins, aged 6 mos to 4 years.
Me, with a sixth ring placed on my middle finger, surrounded by young children.
In other words, you were some kinda bitch to me Universe.
THEN, I have this ridiculous conversation with my husband, a man who doesn't do nuance or complicated conflicting emotions very well:
"I have to call the clinic in DE for a consultation appointment.... but the good news is, I found a donor on there who looks a lot like me, she has brown hair and brown eyes, and is really talented in musical theater."
"Ok.... but a baby is a baby."
"Riiight, that's easy for you to say, you're not the one losing your genetics in this plan."
"If you're going to feel that way, maybe we shouldn't do this at all."
What the ever loving fuck?
As much of a partner I have, I am pretty damn isolated in this. I didn't even tell him until last night about the chemical I had last month.
Jesus. This is why I am the only person in my family who sees a therapist.