Wednesday, September 26, 2007

baby shower invitation

I started and didn’t finish a post last week about the tidal wave of grief that swept over me last weekend. I wrote a lot about the tears that wouldn’t stop. But I couldn’t get the words right so I set it aside.

I’ll have to write about it some other time because I must must must get out the crap that happened today. I had a great day at work. I got a lot done and stayed really busy (which is unusual for me at this time of year). I felt productive and excited about work. I got home and was exited to spend the evening with my mom sewing my clothes for Paris. Good things all around considering how weepy I was last week.

And then my husband innocently mentioned that I got a baby shower invite in the mail today for my SIL. I stewed over it for a few minutes before going to look at it. I decided that before I got really mad at her for sending me a shower invite for her third kid when she knows I’m still miscarrying, that I should make sure it wasn’t sent by her clueless mother. One look and I was full of rage. It was in her handwriting. And the invite was all about celebrating her soon to arrive baby girl. The party is taking place while we will be in Paris.

What kind of motherfucking jackass sends a shower invite with no warning to someone who has just had an absolutely heartbreaking miscarriage? Who does that?

Our struggle is not a secret from anyone. I shared because I wanted their support. I thought honesty would keep people from unintentionally doing or saying something hurtful. It has, on the whole, been the right thing for us. But it also means that when someone does something hurtful, my hurt is deeper because I sense that they hurt me on purpose. That they knew I would feel badly and they did it anyway.

And that is exactly how I felt when I saw the invitation in her handwriting.

They know every single detail of what has happened to us. Their family building has made my infertility more painful than it otherwise would have been and they know it. They found out they were pg with #2 the week we started infertility treatment. They were open with us about their surprise and angst (they had a 6 month old when they got pg and were already four months along when they found out). She gave birth to him 5 weeks after I had my first miscarriage. The day she gave birth was one of the worst days of my life. I contemplated ending my life that day and in the days after that. I thought I was losing my mind. It took me a year of individual and group therapy, plus a mind body class, to get myself on level ground again.

When my brother told my husband while I was out of town on a business trip this spring that they were pregnant again, I refused to speak to him for 6 weeks. I could not think of anything to say to him that was didn’t include at least a dozen f-words and I decided at the time that just wasn’t worth doing.

Tonight I finally found the words. I could not let them have that control over me. I would have festered in my hurt and anger for weeks. I might never have forgiven them for being so thoughtless. I couldn’t let them ruin my once in a lifetime trip in two weeks. So I called. I told them I got the invite and that I was hurt. I cried for all the hurt that has been bottled up for months. I begged for more care and understanding. All I want is for my brother to call me and tell me things like this himself. Don’t pass it on to my husband. Don’t send it to me in the mail. Pick up the god damned phone (after work please) and tell me yourself. And say it with kindness. And compassion. And love. And know that I love you back but that I’m in a pit of despair right now and might not do well in showing it.

It felt good. He was surprisingly open to listening to me. He apologized for unintentionally hurting me. He never would have guessed what I wanted him to do if I hadn’t told him. I feel closer to him now than I did before and feel like I got reassurance about how much I mean to him and how much he cares about me. Even if I had to beg for it.

I'm thankful the shower is on a day when I absolutely can not attend. It saves me from a lot of agnst about whether or not I should attend. I can't go and I don't have to feel guilty about it.

Tomorrow should be my final beta for the pregnancy. Last week's number was 45 (finally below 50 was considered good news) so I'm hopeful I will be below five and officially no longer pregnant. I am praying that my cycle is kind and goes back to normal quickly. I just want to feel human again.

5 comments:

Alison said...

Hello. I've been lurking for a few weeks but I just have to say good for you! That must have been a hard phone call to make and the outcome could not be better. You so did the right thing! And btw, why is it that a shower is being thrown for a third born? How irritating.

Kristen said...

That is terribly inconsiderate and insensitive of her. She has awfully poor judgment if you ask me. Of course, if she is a fertile myrtle with 3 kids, she doesn't get it.

I'm glad you will be in Paris having a lovely vacation and won't have to worry about this stupid party. She isn't the first or only person to ever give birth so who gives a damn?! Sorry, that's my negativity and bitterness seeping through ;)

SarahSews said...

Thanks Alison. The shower for the 3rd is because the other two are boys and this one is a girl (which is what she REALLY wanted all along).

Kimberly said...

Ugh. Sorry for your pain. I have had 4 miscarriages and I know how you are feeling. Please take care and enjoy your trip!

Kristin said...

Sarah. Ugh. Those situations can be so awkward for all involved. I think the pregnant people don't know how to act - they don't want to exclude us, but they also don't want to rub it in our faces. In your SIL's case, though, I don't understand her motive. She must know that you'll be in Paris and can't attend the shower, even if you wanted to, so sending the invite seems really thoughtless. Is she mean or just not the sharpest knife in the drawer?

In any case, you'll be in Paris soon, sporting your gorgeous designs, which is better than sitting around a room squealing in fake delight as each onesie (sp?) or stuffed bear is opened.

I'm thinking of you!