There's really nothing special about most moments of my week night. I guess that's what makes them so special, and no, I'm not making a play on words. I want a lot of things in life -- too many, if I'm being honest -- but there are really big things that I already have, things that might not seem special but are, and routine and normal weeknights with my husband and my girl are one of them.
Come home from work, workout, walk the dog with Livvy, sidewalk chalk (because it was nice out), bubbles while Daddy barbecued (because it's nice out), The Sneetches, Bathtime, Go Dog Go, and bed. SPECIAL. Normal.
And then we sat down just me and him to watch tv. We picked a funny show because I wasn't in the mood for sad. Last Man Standing, Tim Allen? Yes please. Guaranteed laugh. Only, it wasn't a laugh, it was a trigger moment, the worst kind, because I never saw it coming.
Ed's girlfriend lost the baby on the show tonight, and stupid as it sounds, when I watched that fictitious man sit and stare at his friend and tell him just how much he missed the chance to be a dad, I lost it. So I got out of bed to write about it, and because my husband knows me so well, he let me.
I want to say it's stupid to feel this way after watching something horrific happen to a character on a made up show, but that would be degrading the women out there who have their own trigger moments, their own time of absolute breaking when they can't stand under the pressure or the hurt or that Oh my god did that really happen?and I won't do that to them. You lived it, you feel it, you own it, you deserve to let it out without someone else telling you it's stupid. It's not stupid, it's life, and that means sometimes it's a goddamn bloody mess.
Oddly, I haven't felt like this since December. Sure, there have been days when I've been down, days when I want to rage, but those were all days where I saw the funk coming and did something to stave it off, to get my mind to a different place so that I didn't sink under the heaviness of it all. But for the most part, I was great. I'm a mom to a beautiful little girl who currently marches around the house singing "Let it Go" while petting the long locks of hair she doesn't have, how can I really be sad?
Because I lost two babies -- because twice in one year we made a decision to add to our family and by some medical fucking miracle it turns out that that decision wasn't ours to make and now we're left to pick up the pieces and move on. And I know that all of my sisters and close female relatives are busy searching their contacts to find a number of some miracle doctor for me right now, ready to press send to save me from this turmoil, but I need you to all settle down because the thing is, it's not about a baby. It's about those babies, the ones we made and got denied, the ones we celebrated and didn't get to meet, the ones we still love even though we won't ever get to have.
And tonight, it's about him, my guy, my husband, the person I usually only write small funny things about because we've vowed to never be the couple that facebooks lovey dovey things about each other -- "say it to my face, not your friends" he always tells me, and we laugh. But tonight, I can't burden him with this even though I know he'll listen if I need him to. Tonight, I need to say I'm sorry. Sorry that for whatever reason the love we have wasn't enough to create that family that we both saw for our future, sorry that instead of going to ultrasounds to hear the heartbeats and see the 3D images he was taking me to get chemo shots and blood drawn so we could watch my hormone count go down. Sorry that for the first eight weeks in our new city he sat in a hospital lab room every Monday just so he could hand me a tissue and hold my hand on the way out while I cried because I was mad, and fucking sad, and so fucking tired of being poked and prodded and told the same damn thing: you're not pregnant, and you're lucky you're not dead.
And I'm sorry that the blue eyed little girl who calls her baby doll her sissy won't ever get to have that sissy we planned for her.
This isn't a tirade, nor is it a letter to those unkown babies who managed to steal our hearts even when we learned they never really existed in the first place; I've already said goodbye to them. No, this is a letter to say the I'm sorrys that I know he doesn't want to hear, that no one wants to hear, not even me, and still, the words are there.
Because we're a happy family with so many great things in our life, I'm not keeping these feelings here, though I'm sure I'll talk to him about them soon, maybe even tomorrow. For now, though, I'm going to write them and send them out into the universe where I know someone somewhere will understand my need to give this apology for the things I know I couldn't control.
I'm sorry for losing our babies; I'm sorry that you had to watch me struggle to pull it together for those months afterward, and I'm sorry for nights like tonight when I can't stay in bed until I get it out. I'm sorry for Livvy that she can't have the sisters that I had, and I'm sorry for us that there are days that life is so fucking unfair and I can't ignore it and see the bright side. You know how I hate the sun sometimes.
I'm sorry -- I know it wasn't my fault, it's just the way things work sometimes but I'm so fucking sorry it happened to us. To you. But I'm also so grateful I had you. I love that the first thing you did both times we learned the news was pick me up and cradle me and tell me that you loved me so much. I love you, too. I'm coming back to bed now.