My anxiety is increasing about this baby shower this weekend, the one that was supposed to be mine. In the mail, I got a note to get a mammogram. That means it has been a year since I escalated this journey to IVF. A year, two pregnancies, three dead embryos. Oh and the years dicking around almost dying before that. My baby would be almost three years old.
I hate this. I hate this for both of us. I wish I could be what I should be, but I can't.
I'm tempted to send the damn gift and say I can't attend, because it's true. I feel like I can't. Over this journey, I've learned to remove myself from situations that will be too much to handle. One year old's birthday parties. Conversations about breast pumps. Facebook. Life. I haven't been to a baby shower in two years, except work ones I couldn't skip, with acquantainces.
This will be the first time I am staring down my husband's gossipy, awful family in this context. I want to hide. My friend texted me that I am strong and brave and that I can do this. But maybe I can't? I can't even run in the back room and hide if it gets rough, because this is an awful relative hosting this at a place I've never been. It's easier to handle kids than pregnant women for me. Well, kids, then babies, then pregnant women.
I've been to a lot of yoga this week to try to center and zen or something. But I keep going back to this mental image that she is hugely pregnant. And I'm still here.