Aborting Easter

My sperm donor, who still isn't home, has aborted Easter.  He has been to four cities since he left, and he is supposed to come home Saturday, in theory.  He said I "wasn't ready" to see his family.  By family, he means his now 11 maybe 12 week pregnant sister who is having the first grandbaby.  I can't bring myself to Google how pregnant I should be right now.

My sperm donor still will not talk about anything.  He refuses to talk about IVF plans, about what happened.  I'm not even sure he knows what it meant when I texted him that I took the pills.  He refuses to talk about any of it.

And then I'm not "ready" to face his fucking pregnant sister while he refuses to own any emotions at all.  I don't know that I am ready, but I'm not that opposed.  I mean,  I can't say I really want to drive a couple hours, face the MIL who saw the color run out of my face when there was no heartbeat.  I can't say it will be fun to deal with someone who is OMGPREGNANT bitching about how the smell of eggs makes her throw up.

At least my recent foray into missed abortion meets the Catholic guidelines for abortions, I looked it up.  I just barely made it with the technicality that I'm no longer considered pregnant after the fetus is confirmed dead.  Whew.  I'd hate to have gotten another abortion that Catholics don't agree with after playing god in my forbidden IVF and being so rude as to almost die with a live fetus still in the tube.  Actually, talking about Catholic reproductive doctrine would be more fun than talking about my miscarriage.

What actually would happen is no one would talk about it at all, and it would be this silent weird thing that they protect me from.  GOD I'M SO PATHETIC.  It was bad enough when it was failed IVF at Christmas and everyone felt so fucking sorry for me and didn't say a word.   At Christmas, when I thought this time it would work.  It was going to be twins! And then Easter, when I should be the most glowing happy preggo planning a joint gender reveal party with my SIL for the first grandbabies or something.  But no.  I'm just too pathetic to even talk about.  And who the hell would want to talk about it?  Do I want a big group cry over a bonfire toasting some marshmallows?  Some kind of unfuneral for a piece of tissue that is now medical waste at some lab $915 later?

I'm not opposed to driving out there.  I can buy a bottle of whiskey, and I can drink.  Hell, I even have some hydrocodone left.  I can go anywhere and not be there.  God knows I haven't been here in a while.

After Easter was aborted, I went to the fancy grocery store in the middle of the day.  Some lady in a gym outfit that cost more than my wedding dress was trying to wrangle a 2 year old and was really pregnant.  She was blocking the path.  I was such a bitch to her.  I hate pregnant women.  And tears were in my eyes because it was her fault and every other fucking magically pregnant woman.  I hate pregnant women.  My next door neighbor is due this week, and she is still running.  They were installing a car seat and joking about how they can't go to happy hour anymore.  I hate pregnant women.

I saw that heartbeart and then I fished it out of the toilet.  After three years of shots and calenders and dashed hope.  God.  How stupid was I for ever thinking this would work.  All this dream has ever brought me is more pain that I could have imagined.  I feel so alone.  So much a failure.  Everyone else is just passing by me.  And everyone else is pregnant.  And she is having the first grandbaby.  And I'm sure the smell of eggs is just intolerable.  And there will be no Easter eggs.