Monday

Easter was a bit rough. I wasn't expecting that... I was mildly annoyed at the idea of celebrating a holiday that is not relevant to my life, but I didn't think about whether it was going to be emotionally difficult. It went basically okay until after the meal. I sat down in the living room next to Mr. Ibis, who was watching golf. The rest of the men drifted into the living room but the women all settled in at the dining room table around the corner to chat - my MIL, my SIL, her mom, and a friend of the family who had come with her husband and two kids.

So the women chatted, as they usually do, about their kids and about being moms. They talked about the goofy Halloween costumes they've made for the children over the years, about family camping trips, about school and their teachers and teaching the kids how to read. I couldn't help but overhear everything and suddenly I found myself struggling not to cry. I watched the stupid golf game and focused on holding in the tears, internally debating whether to excuse myself to the bathroom and just let it out. I was completely overcome with envy and grief - why can't I be one of them, why can't I be a mom too?

And of course the unbidden thought came to me that I was supposed to be six months pregnant by now. That countdown is always running somewhere in the back of my mind, and usually I don't think of it, until "special" days come up. When I was pregnant I blissfully counted ahead to all the milestones and holidays. I would find out the sex right around my nephew's birthday. I would be 6 months pregnant at Easter, 7 months at Mother's Day, 8 months on my 31st birthday, and none of it came to pass.

And then I thought about my SIL (the one who moved away) and how she was the center of attention at so many past holiday celebrations, first with her growing belly, and then with the new baby. How she got to join the club, how she got to be part of all the conversations about pregnancy and delivery and nursing and shopping for baby clothes. At the time I felt merely happy for her, because I was sure I would soon follow. But now I was sitting there on the outside, feeling excluded, isolated, defective.

On the drive home with Mr. Ibis, I blurted out incoherently that I had "got emotional" when the ladies were talking about their kids, but as soon as I'd said it I felt like I didn't really want to get into it, and he kind of glossed over my comment as well. I supposed I figured that he feels badly enough already about our loss and our lack, without me launching into a big lament (like I've just done here) about how sad I was feeling. It's hard - I need to vent sometimes, but I don't want to rub it in. I'm not sure who to go to. I'm glad I have this blog, and the TTCAL board.

When we got home, Mr. Ibis went outside to play with the dog for a bit, I stayed in and had a little mini-cry and then pulled myself together. We watched a TV show, then talked for a little while about the mentoring program and Googled some activities we can do with our Little Brother. Having gorged ourselves on the Easter dinner, we weren't hungry for a full meal, but I had some toast and Mr. I had a slice of pie.

We went to bed at a reasonable hour, but then Mr. Ibis couldn't sleep at all. He gets like that sometimes and it drives me crazy. It always seems to happens on Sunday nights, which means he is tired for the rest of the week because he will never go to bed early and make up for it. He claimed it was the pie, but he's done it before with no pie. He lays there with his mind racing all night long. He wakes me up 100 times throughout the night because he's tossing around, and sometimes I feel like the tension is radiating off him so strongly it interrupts my own sleep waves. It's maddening. I got up at 1am to pee and he hadn't slept a wink - we get up at 5:30. He claims he eventually fell asleep but it was probably an hour or two at most. I just don't understand why he can't chill out, meditate or something, and sleep! I feel that he feeds into it by obsessing and then purposely obsessing over the fact that he's not sleeping... maybe that's unsympathetic.

So of course this morning he was grouchy. I was annoyed with him for doing this AGAIN when we have our meeting with Little Brother tonight and it's so important. And now he's going to be a huge grouch and it's going to be my problem somehow, because he didn't get enough sleep. And he was annoyed with me, because, in his explanation, he felt guilty for keeping me up half the night, and then "I just confirmed it" by being in a bad mood this morning. AAAHAHGHHGH someone stab me in the eye please.