Oh the joy of needing to compose a new category. Any suggestions? Post IVF#3: Continuing the death march? Or Post IVF#3: Lalalalala I can't hear you? Or Post IVF#3: If RW is still 35, then so am I?
Yes, you can tell, I'm not exactly over this yet. The weekend showed me this pretty clearly. First, I went to Tescos on Friday afternoon to get some cake-making ingredients. I went fully armed with an ipod on full volume, but it didn't manage to block my visuals of hundreds and hundreds of small children who were having fun with shopping. And chatting, and crying, and asking: "Why?" and whining and all that good stuff, but still, no matter how much their parents would rather have been without them at that particular instant, I still wanted to be with one of them. Or two or three. Getting emotional in the organic fruit aisle, not really recommended.
Then we went to a friend's birthday lunch on Sunday. We thought we'd timed it right so we'd be able to walk in, say hi to our three good friends who would be there, then deposit our chocolate gingerbread contribution, then leave again sharpish. When we got there, our birthday friend was alone with just one other couple and their two (adorable, blond, slightly suntanned) children. We sort of know this couple who are perfectly charming but not close to us and not people we really needed to make small talk with this weekend. Not quite what we'd planned. We ended up staying for over two hours while people slowly trickled in, until just after lunch was served and one of our friends showed up, then making an almost indecently fast exit, with the excuse that we needed to get back to our builder. Yes, the builders are still in, and in a desperate attempt to finish one of them was indeed working this Sunday, we weren't lying to our friends. In fact, it was a good thing we left when we did, as the builder was slightly forlornly sitting on our bottom step smoking when we got back. Anyway, the lunch was very stressful all round - making polite conversation is really not my thing at the moment - and I was glad to be home again, even sans gingerbread.
I was thinking about the grief yesterday. And this morning, and most of the rest of my waking hours, actually. I was wondering why this pervasive sadness was back again, when getting a negative after a cycle isn't really as bad as having a miscarriage, no matter how early that miscarriage was. And I realised, because I'm so bright that way, that the sadness is back because this isn't any different than the grief of the miscarriage. It's all one big bit of grief, which just goes on and on and on being sad. Perhaps the last post I wrote should have offered me one ginormous clue that that was true, but what can I say, I guess my brilliance is taking a back seat to my sadness right now.
So yes, I'm really sad. My life is just coloured a peculiarly unattractive shade of grey all round. I don't really like my job, even while I recognise that I am bloody lucky to work for a company that has such good benefits, and pays me so well, and offers me interesting and challenging work, well, at least some of the time. Because I'd really rather be home, looking after a demanding and generally unresponsive infant, I don't get much pleasure out of my work. I'm fatter than I'd like to be, again, yet one of the few things that does make me feel better is cooking and eating delicious food. To the extent that I'm seriously considering whether a local deli would sell some of my cakes and cookies. At least that way I could get the satisfaction of making them without H and I and my work colleagues being the sole so-called beneficiaries. I'm guessing that as soon as this stuff is for sale to the general public that I'd have to follow all sorts of health and safety guidelines that my kitchen probably doesn't comply with, so it's probably not an option. But right now I do think it would make me happy. Cooking=nurturing=love, isn't that right?
Of course H is very sad, too. I think we, and the world, often forget how sad our men get. H has dropped little things into the conversation recently that have been quite illuminating. Things like: "Don't you hate it when we see so many babies on the way to the gym?" And "Let's not go to the wetlands centre today, it will be full of families." And he had to go out into the garden yesterday after a few minutes with the happy couple and their (adorable) children. I followed him out and he said: "Thank you, that was a signal that I needed a hug. But look, the baby's following us!" And indeed, the (very cute) baby was crawling in a very determined manner towards us. H also has a thoroughly violent reaction every time I turn to something like 'baby story' on the TV - not that I do it very often any more, but, as I'm sure you recognise, sometimes that masochism just kicks in. He always asks: "Why are you doing this? Why are you making yourself feel worse?" I just protest that actually in that instant it's ok for me to watch this programme, but I think now that I've been missing the point. It's him who can't bear to watch those programmes, not just me.
It always shocks me when he comes out with those kinds of statements. He's such the strong, kind, silent type that I imagine him, sad yet stalwart, just getting on with life. Those little sad comments give me a clue that he's holding a lot in so that he doesn't upset me. He continues to want to protect me, to look after me and make me feel better, so he doesn't burden me with those feelings that he has. But he has them, nonetheless. So I worry about him. Not much I can do, but I worry about him.
I've been thinking a lot about adoption. And getting very scared, and wanting to talk to H about it, but he's not ready. I'll write a proper post on it soon.
Thank you again for all your recent support. You've been fabulous.