Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Thanks for Something

Thanksgiving was all about the OMG baby, of course.  I did a lot of the work.  And everything was about the baby.  Baby.  Baby.  Baby.

Of course, the baby is perfect.  It will eat from any device.  It will sleep in any location.  It will make some kind of face.  It's perfect.  And then she said that it had sperm donor's eyes.  She said her baby had my husband's eyes.

I was filled with this fucking rage of how dare she.  How dare she steal everything I ever wanted.  How dare she walk in here like nothing happened.  How dare she not even fucking text when my baby is dead.  How dare she not give a shit about the hell I am walking through.  How dare she mock me and all my loss by saying her baby looks like my husband's.  IT'S NOT MY HUSBAND'S BABY BECAUSE THAT BABY IS DEAD.

A few minutes later, when we were still talking about the baby, because what else do people talk about?, I went the back room and cried.  The same room I cried in when I saw her pregnant belly for the first time so long ago.  Maybe they could even hear me this time.  I don't even care.  This is real.

Bisabuela was even worse.  She told stories of that baby and Fancypants's baby (who isn't even blood related to her) and then related them back to the billion other babies in the family.  She looked me in the eye as if she didn't know, when she's the worst.  Oh, and when are we having a baby?  You'll have to ask God.  He took the others.

Sperm donor said he thought the comment about his eyes was flattering.  He would.  He's all about that.

And maybe some of this is a cultural barrier.  I've lived as an interloper in a Mexican family for a long time, and have had very few issues, none once married.  The issues I had were sitcom level jokes about the language barrier.  But I think this one might be cultural.  I think there might not be a language of loss for this.  I think there might not be words for the struggle for what I am going through.   Worse, I think they might blame me (not that I give a shit).

But I feel stabbed through the heart by the way I have been treated.

I could just completely skip Christmas and no one would give a shit.  I understand now why people go on cruises or go to Paris or something for Christmas.  I get it.


  1. You should do that (get away for Christmas, I mean). What's stopping you at this point, really?
    Spend Christmas in London (I say London because, it's my favorite city in the world). London is beautiful at Christmas. Spend some time away and alone then return, regroup and maybe the distance will have helped - just a little.

  2. Seriously do not endure that for Christmas. Every day life is hard enough and then you throw in the situation with your family. Would your husband be open to going away just the two of you? Please be good to yourself. Do something for you and take care.

  3. I'm sorry your Thanksgiving was so terrible. And, I wouldn't blame you if you went away for Christmas - I asked my hubby if he would rather go to Florida, because I don't want to be here! He, of course, declined because he's an only child and his mother would probably have a fit if we went away. What a doting son. Maybe I'll go by myself!