An Easter Lamb to Slaughter

We ended up going to Easter dinner, even though my sperm donor had said we weren't going.  For various reasons, this was just my husband's immediate family.  Some cousins or aunties would have been helpful to handle this occasion, but nope.  Just my in laws, his siblings and their various guests, and my pregnant sister in law Hermione.  With my due date.  I had a miscarriage, and she still has my due date and will be having the first grandbaby.  There you go.

I still haven't googled how pregnant I should be, I think it's about 12 weeks.

When we first showed up, Hermione was with a stepkid at the kitchen table.  I brought presents.  A picture frame for a sonogram, like the one Awaiting Autumn bought.  Won't need that.  A video baby monitor someone gave us.  Won't need that.   Some earrings with her baby's birthstone.  I'm thoughtful like that, right.  I don't even think she said thank you.  I guess she didn't know what to say.

Later on when she got up, I was shocked.  I mean, I wouldn't know anything about being 12 weeks pregnant, but she was in a full on maternity top with a bunch of extra fabric that would have made anyone look pregnant.  She's a bigger girl, so the overall effect was stunning.  I didn't see that one coming.

The anger flashed in me.  She was only trying a few months.  She will be the third chick this guy has a baby with.  She is 30 years old, just like I should have been.  She's due right before Christmas like I should have been.  And she is having the first grandbaby.  I should have been.  I felt myself get hotter.  I felt sheer anger.  I didn't say anything.  I didn't even make eye contact.  It was like 30 seconds of red hot anger that stopped my breathing.  I could feel tears welling up.

Then the sadness kicked in and I excused myself to be alone in another room.  None of this has anything to do with her, obviously.  It's me, and my three years of failure.  I paid $915 to ship my baby off as medical waste, and they are just lala happy happy.  I felt the darkness come over me, and I cried in that back room.  No one came to check on me.  No one said anything about it.

Four beers later, it was still very dark.  I keep a happy face.  I told jokes.  But it wasn't real.

Why was I even here?  This is not my family.  This is her family.  And her baby will be the grandbaby.  I am just this sad vortex of pain and suffering that they tolerate because it's Easter.  If I weren't here, they could talk about cribs or names or something.  But since I'm here, the fun is over.  Try not to make eye contact.

Nobody said shit.  I have a friend who is really into therapy, and she says people just need you to say something to feel validated.  Even if it's "I don't know what to say."  Nope.  Nobody said shit.  No pregnancy talk.  No miscarriage talk.  That is probably for the best.  I would have busted into tears.  Or made really dark jokes about dead babies and skinny jeans and you aren't sure whether to laugh; they all know I'm capable of that.  My sperm donor was right.  I wasn't ready.  I'm not sure I ever will be.

We stayed two hours.  We drove home.  I cried on the drive home.  I'm not sure if my sperm donor noticed.

This is only going to get harder.  She has my due date, and she is having the first grandbaby, and that is only going to get more real.  That was already more real than I could handle.