I'm not Jewish, but Lawyer Guy and his family are, so we spent the eve of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, at family dinners in the suburbs. In keeping with my generally crappy attitude of the past several weeks, there were a lot of moments in which I felt pretty sorry for myself:
- Driving with Lawyer Guy in almost two hours of traffic (in the car that I side-swiped into a wall in our parking garage yesterday afternoon).
- Watching my in-laws gush and coo and hover over my almost three-year-old niece.
- Watching the fat little baby my 5-month-old niece has turned into.
- Thinking how my baby would have been three months younger than Niece #2 (having a living yardstick by which to measure your never-born child rocks).
- Remembering last year's Rosh Hashanah dinner, when BIL and SIL showed the 12-week ultrasound of Niece #2 and I fought so hard to be friendly and interested and engaged in the conversations about the new baby and to smother the jealousy that even then started to surge.
- Realizing I have neither the desire nor the will to try to control my jealousy any longer.
- Remembering how I told myself last September that "this time next year" things would be different.
- Remembering that last year's Rosh Hashanah was the beginning of the cycle that led to my pregnancy.
And the big one, which always seems to be at the back of my mind these days:
- Realizing it's actually the autumn again, that October is a breath away and November right after, and that I'll soon be remembering the anniversary of the only pregnancy I may ever have.
Shit, it's really enough to break my heart sometimes.
Lawyer Guy came home with some pessimistic work news earlier in the week, and I told him that one of these days our luck has to change. Eventually, things have to start coming right again. I don't know if I actually believe that, but I needed to be supportive of him, and in the moments I said the words they did feel true. Nothing lasts forever, not even runs of crappy luck that are edging ever closer to the multi-year mark. Not even them.
It's a new post-miscarriage year. It's a new academic year. For my Jewish family, it's a new calendar year. And one week from today, we'll meet some REs and finally start a new phase in this process.
I'm not going to wave flags or toot noisemakers or drink champagne. I've gotten to the point in this process where I've realized that new years can look remarkably like old ones and that the simple passage of time is no magical palliative for all life's troubles.
But still. New is good.
Reinvention of a blog
6 months ago