I didn’t write on the day or after. I did hear from a good friend (I won’t link her here unless she says ok, that pesky secondary infertility can well, suck)around about the date. No one else remembered except for her. Thak you C. Thank you. That’s more than I did for you, and I’m sorry. I’ve been an asshat lately with getting the Bean off to school and my own, very lame sinus infection. I’m just depressed and I think you understand.
There are other things, but you have to know me to know them. Suffice to say I’ve been ‘occupied.”
Emily would have had a sibling. But she didn’t, because? Because my womb is weak? lacking? Well that’s how it feels, even if it isn’t the truth. Yes, because it isn’t.
It just is, what it is. I was pregnant, happily, if somewhat ambivalently so, and then…then it stopped.
And the world ground to a halt.
Well then, I had surgery. The Bean stopped preschool. The Bean stayed home with me. J changed jobs. I decided it was time to go back to work and to well, do that writing f*cking thing again (you know that thing I was marginally known for a while back?).
And then the Bean started kindergarten.
GOOD GOOD, what fresh hell is this? The child has to stay awake for longer than ever before. The child has to deal with more children than ever before AND the child has to NOT be able to have Mommy come get her when it sucks.
Ok…so that is rot. I HATE that. Yes, yes, dear readers, I am maintaining my ra ra attitude for her school. She only hears excitement or ferocity from me.
But when her teacher tells me how she cries, my heart hurts. And when she talks about the noise and chaos, I think…I think I’m not protecting her.
The word is gentle. Why don’t more kids know this word, this way of being?