It’s been a rough weekend. I think it’s the combination of many things that have been weighing on me that made me teeter between taking off the head of any person who dared glance at me to literally collapsing to the floor to cry.
I found out that I’m number ten on the waiting list at my clinic for a donor. You need to know that they get approximately one donor a month. One donor to match to two recipients. You do the math.
It’s CD17 and there’s nothing to indicate I am going to ovulate.
There were a couple of pregnancy announcements by some friends of ours.
We attended my husband’s 25th class reunion. You don’t realize how old you are until you see a room of your peers.
It was then this post by Jen about maternity clothes that tied up my guts and made it difficult for me to focus beyond my sadness to see much or any of the good that may have been around me.
Over a year ago I took every piece of maternity clothing I had and gave it to someone I knew pregnant with her first child. Maternity clothing is expensive and it can be hard for the average person to justify the cost for something that may only be worn 4-5 months.
I was one of those “average persons”. I remember shopping the first time for maternity clothes somewhere around four months pregnant with X. My sister accompanied me and was willing to give me a more than honest opinion of the items available. I would strap on the fake bump and laugh at the idea that I would ever be big enough to fill out any of the pieces.
I remember the funky maternity jeans with the flared bottoms that were just as hip as any non-maternity jeans and I wore them for almost every casual occasion. I remember the dupioni silk top in a deep red that I wore to a formal fundraiser with the black boot cut slacks with high heels when I was over 8 months pregnant. I remember the striped horizontal turtleneck sweater that I wore to my baby shower.
While I hated them all, I saved them…just in case.
I was so happy when I was able to retire them to the far reaches of my closet.
I was so happy that someone else would finally get some use out of them. I also thought in some cosmic way that my selflessness in letting someone wear those clothes would somehow grant me some immunity from all the bad luck we had been experiencing.
When I got pregnant with Wolf and we saw a heartbeat, I was worried about how I would ask for the clothes back as I hadn’t been clear as to whether I was loaning or giving her the clothes. I knew I would have to ask since she had just delivered her baby and nothing had been mentioned about returning the clothes.
My concern was for naught as I went on to miscarry Wolf at 8 weeks.
Now that I’ve had yet another miscarriage since then, I wonder if maybe she knows that I’ll never be pregnant again and therefore would have no need of them. They are probably long gone by now. I have no idea.
The very idea that I may never need those stupid clothes back, even though I KNOW I would end up getting all new stuff anyway, just breaks me.
I wonder if I hadn’t just kept those clothes, it would have told whoever it is controlling my destiny that I was serious about having another baby. Maybe by giving them up as well as all the baby clothes and furniture it was misunderstood as my giving up on the dream. For the first time in a long time I am really regretting those things not taking up space in my attic or basement. I’m scared that by giving those things away I gave away the hope and dreams I had for our future.
What if I fucked up? What if instead of promoting good karma, I did the opposite? It makes me nearly ill with grief to imagine it.
I know I can get new things and that I shouldn’t fret over something so ridiculous, but now I have nothing around me anymore to remind me of what we have been struggling so hard for. Shouldn’t I have kept something so that my desire wouldn’t appear disingenuous? If I really wanted another baby, shouldn’t I have a nursery ready to go? Shouldn’t I have a dresser full of baby clothes? Wouldn’t these be proof of my intentions and that we plan on doing everything we can to reach that point?
Right now, I am feeling more alone and helpless than I have in a long time. I haven’t written a post where I cried all the way through it in a long time.
It all feels so utterly futile.