That part I wrote about not being a weepy sort of griever was not true, apparently. it has been true in the past so of course I assumed consistency. Will says it’s because I am softer now than I used to be – emotionally, speaking. I say, softer sucks. The strong side of me – the hard side, I suppose – has settled back into routines that had fallen by the wayside amidst the nausea and fatigue that overshadow one’s first trimester. The soft side walks through the routines in a wooden sort of way. The strong side drives to the library and grocery story and gas station intent on the errand at hand. The soft side looks into the eyes of every woman she passes and wonders how many know this hurt. The soft side sees pregnant women everywhere and she says a prayer for each one.
I read a statistic once that most women will have one miscarriage in their lifetime and I suppose I figured that I’d paid my dues somewhere after Sister but before Brother. And as painful as it was, I thought to myself, “Okay. Well, at least that’s over with.” It was a silly sort of reassurance I know. Obviously they had to average things out which means of course that some women will never experience this and some get extra chances to build character. But one doesn’t think of averages when you are lying to yourself about the statistic.
“It will feel like really strong menstrual cramps.” This one I believed not because of the authority who said it but because I’d already had the experience once and it had indeed felt just like difficult menstrual cramps. After we got the news I faithfully drank my red raspberry tea, took my tincture of black haw and waited. It took my body two more days to get the memo.
**continued tomorrow (and then I’ll let it go … I think.)