I haven't been able to shake the funk that Easter dinner put me in when I saw my sister in law Hermione with my due date and the first grandbaby. The first time I got pregnant, Princess Kate got pregnant shortly after with Prince George. This time, I have a local pregnant princess. In my face. Hooray for the royal first grand baby. Due in November!
Other people being pregnant -- co-workers, Duggars, neighbors -- I could handle, well, sort of. Some, I was vaguely happy for. Some annoyed me and so I tried to forget about it. And, ok, I blocked a few on Facebook. Some, I was indifferent. Even if I was upset, I could shake that feeling eventually.
But Hermione. God. How cruel does the universe have to be? To snuff out my baby's heartbeat, and then to face the first grandbaby with my fucking due date? As if failing IVF wasn't enough. Or emergency ectopic wasn't enough. Or miscarriage wasn't enough. To have to bear this? How can I possibly be happy for this? How can I be happy for anything? Mostly I feel nothing. You could transvaginally probe me, and I would feel nothing.
Every time I think of Hermione's magical special pregnancy, I start with this anger reaction. Anger at the universe. Anger at this shitty situation. I feel hot. I feel flustered. And then I have two other emotions that alternate, pity and blame.
The pity. Sometimes I feel like I am just the most pathetic excuse for a woman to live. Like everything will always go wrong and this will just never happen for me. I'm just pathetic. Why would a good man like this stay with a loser like me? What am I supposed to do with my sad little life now?
The blame is a new one. I have started mentally listing all my cosmic affronts that would make me deserve this. Why can't I be happy for Hermione? Of course I don't deserve a baby. I'm too self-absorbed to even be happy for Hermione, who never did anything to me. I drink too much. I'm terrible with kids. I've been a shitty friend, especially lately. I SHOULD HAVE LOST MORE WEIGHT. I should have taken more vitamins. I should have done this when I was 25. I got this career, but at what cost? This client, this conference call are what I wanted more than a baby. I shouldn't have lied about having the flu. I should have been a better aunt. I shouldn't have shoplifted that candy bar when I was 15. The list goes on and on. My sins are many.
And then comes the hopelessness. What's the point? The weight of all these emotions comes crushing down on me, and I start crying. In the car. At work. Something has snapped this time. I always cried at night before, and I could always find something to keep it together, at least within a few days after my monthly failures. But it's been weeks since there was no heartbeat and the Cytotec, and I can't shake it. Before, I could just push through. I've got a plan! Clomid will work, injectibles will work, IVF. For a long time, I held on to hope. I actually believed the next time would work.
At some point, the common thread is me, and it can't all just be a bad break. I can't just keep blaming luck or someone else. It's not someone else's fault. I accept responsibility. It's my fault. I missed my chance. I waited too long, and now I pay the price. But why does the universe have to take my babies and then do this to me to top it off?