Some thoughts from this weekend, some clarification, some reflection.
So, after reading back what I've written, I really hope I don't sound bitter, or ungrateful, or angry. If I do, it's not my intention. This space is the only one where I can let this side of my thoughts and life out. I can't walk around like a raving lunatic--all the time--so I'll save my raving for here.
Somedays I feel like Keri Russell's character in the movie "Waitress." Remember how she was so reluctant to be attached to her baby when she was pregnant? And then--SPOILER ALERT!--when she had the baby, everything else faded away and she was happier than she'd ever been? I kind of feel that way--as though I have to save all my happiness and excitement for later, for THEN, for IF and WHEN. I'll do what I have to, I'll take care of myself and this little one as best I can, I will live in my life. But . . . but.
That's not so say I don't have moments of clarity, calmness, even happiness. Those moments are, and always will be, though, tinged with sadness, melancholy, despair. And although there always will be the hint of sadness--and often, far more than a hint--my life is just my life, the same as any other life. There's good, there's bad, there's joy and sorrow. Sometimes, all in the same moment.
C and I went out on a date on Friday. There's a big fundraiser for an international humanitarian association held every year, and somehow we scored tickets from a friend. It wasn't really my kind of event--long lines to wait for samples of food, hundreds of people under tents, drinks on top of drinks on top of drinks on top of drunks. But, it was something to do anyway.
I must have the kind of demeanor that allows people to assume I want to talk to them. Sometimes I do, but often, I just don't--especially as of late. While waiting in line for some food--at that point, I didn't even care what we were waiting for, I was so stark raving hungry--I noticed a family ahead of us. Older parents and adult child with his wife. I could tell, feel the mother wanting to ask me about my pregnancy. I refused to make eye contact. But, it happened anyway. She asked the unwavering, "is this your first?" Me:" Nope, third." Her: "Oh, how nice. What do you already have?" Me: "One of each." Blah blah blah.
And then it happened again. And then we ran into an old neighbor, one who knew nothing of Calla, only E and now the current resident inside. And then I was done. I guess it was just easier to say "one of each" because, well, it is true. It's just that one's dead. One, thankfully, is not. I didn't feel the need to neither burden complete strangers with this knowledge nor get into my life story with people who may or may not be half in the bag.
C and I went out for a real dinner afterwards and I told him how that makes me feel. His point was that people are trying to be nice, and they are simply excited for us. They don't know. And I get that. It's not as though I have it tattooed on my forehead. To the blissfully unaware rest of the world, I'm any other pregnant girl on the street.
Except, as we all know, I'm really not. Which is why, among thousands of other reasons, I don't want to get into it. I'd rather get it all out HERE so I don't explode out THERE.
So today was the baptism of a new baby cousin, a little girl born a month after Calla was due. It's been on the calendar for weeks. It turns out a dear family member has been ill for nearly a week, so C and I decided it would be better for me to stay home. I felt terrible missing it, but C took E and I'm sure they had fun.
Now I panic. This is crazy, and irrational, I realize this. But even writing that I know this I worry I'm bringing bad things upon us. Whenever C takes E without me, I worry. The. Entire. Time. Not because I don't have faith in C, but because there are so many things that could happen. Things I can't bear to write but am haunted by the thought of--until the car pulls into the driveway. And they're home again, safe and sound.
Welcome to my brain.