I don't want to be "that couple"
I don't talk much with friends about our struggles in trying to get to baby. It is personal, it is painful and I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I do that enough myself.
We've been invited to an event tomorrow night where, if we go, we'll see some old friends -- good friends from when we lived on the east coast. I do want to see them and I do want to catch up but then again I don't.
They all know about the pregnancy I lost at 19 weeks -- everyone does. That was almost two years ago. They don't know about the pregnancy last summer that ended with a miscarriage at eight weeks. They don't know that I'm having surgery in a couple of weeks to hack out an unwanted cyst that is getting in my ovary's way. Bastard. They don't know any of this stuff -- but I do know they wonder.
It makes me cringe to think of them looking at me, at us and feeling sorry that we aren't able to experience what it is like to be parents. They might feel uncomfortable talking about their kids, they might want to ask what's happening. But they won't, they are all far too polite.
But on the other hand, what if they aren't thinking any of those things? What if it didn't occur to them that my heart breaks into a million pieces on a monthly basis? What if they have no idea of our pain, our sorrow, our anger?
How do you reconcile not wanting to be defined by what defines you?
We've been invited to an event tomorrow night where, if we go, we'll see some old friends -- good friends from when we lived on the east coast. I do want to see them and I do want to catch up but then again I don't.
They all know about the pregnancy I lost at 19 weeks -- everyone does. That was almost two years ago. They don't know about the pregnancy last summer that ended with a miscarriage at eight weeks. They don't know that I'm having surgery in a couple of weeks to hack out an unwanted cyst that is getting in my ovary's way. Bastard. They don't know any of this stuff -- but I do know they wonder.
It makes me cringe to think of them looking at me, at us and feeling sorry that we aren't able to experience what it is like to be parents. They might feel uncomfortable talking about their kids, they might want to ask what's happening. But they won't, they are all far too polite.
But on the other hand, what if they aren't thinking any of those things? What if it didn't occur to them that my heart breaks into a million pieces on a monthly basis? What if they have no idea of our pain, our sorrow, our anger?
How do you reconcile not wanting to be defined by what defines you?
posted by Sarah at
1:45 PM
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