Most people love getting flowers. I’m one of those people. I’ve gotten flowers for lots of fun stuff in my life. I’ve never gotten sympathy flowers- until today.
I was furiously cleaning my entire house because idle hands and minds and all, and the doorbell rang.
I didn’t make it to the door in time. I ran full speed across the wet kitchen floor to go retrieve my bra from the bedroom and put it on before opening the door and scaring anyone. I was cussing under my breath at the possible solicitation happening on my doorstep. By the time I wrestled my bra on and got back to the door, there was no one there. I looked across the street to my neighbor, who has recently had a new baby girl. They gave a few decorations out announcing their good news. Timing, y’all. Can’t do a thing about it.
I looked down and saw the beautiful flowers waiting on me and burst into tears. Full disclosure- I’m not a cryer. It takes a lot. I haven’t spoken to my father since October because he’s a deadbeat and I have not shed a single tear.
But these flowers hit me straight in the gut. I imagine this is what people feel like when people send flowers for a funeral. Sure, it’s a beautiful gesture and much appreciated. But it hurts your heart to the very core.
I don’t begrudge the neighbor across the street for her baby girl. I sure don’t my sweet friend next door who, after her own fertility struggles and loss, is pregnant with 2 healthy baby girls. It’s just life, but it stings a little.
It’s very hard to see small babies at this point. I missed Quinn’s first dance class last week (so did she, hand foot and mouth disease struck her down) so yesterday was her first class. I had on my happy face and was excited to meet some of the other moms and make small talk in the lobby during class. Except I couldn’t. Because there were babies everywhere and I was having trouble attempting conversation without tearing up.
I understand that most of this is hormonal and it will adjust itself soon and I’ll go back to being my usual heartless self, but right now it’s tough to be an adult.
I know how lucky I am to have one healthy kid. I do not want anyone struggling with fertility to think I take that for granted at all, because I don’t. But my one healthy kid bawled her eyes out at the end of dance class yesterday because her friends had to go home. She needs a buddy at home.
And if by some miracle we’re able to have another baby after these two losses that we’ve suffered, I promise never to complain for one second about them fighting and arguing as they get older. I’ll make them hold hands and clean the bathroom together as punishment and hug their necks and kiss their heads and be so thankful that they’re alive.
And if we never have another baby, I will make sure this kid gets the most amazing childhood we can muster because she is a walking, talking, twirling, messy little miracle.
