Yesterday was a strange work day for me. I felt disjointed and out-of-place, like I had woken up in some alternate universe. A was aflutter over the recent birth of M's baby girl, and was spilling details left and right about the whole process. My office was transformed from a somewhat baby-hostile environment into motherfucking baby land.
I've spouted off many times before about how when someone I know has a baby, as is true for many of us dead-baby mamas, I'm sure, I am sent into a tailspin of self-destructive and self-pitying thoughts. It's an ugly place to be, and it makes me feel like an ugly person: selfish, locked so deep in my prison of grief that I cannot even muster a smile or a "Congratulations" to welcome the miracle of a new life.
Yesterday was different though.
I watched A, radiating
And suddenly, it wasn't M and her healthy-baby-popping-out abilities that turned me green. A, and her I-don't-have-a-kid-and-I-don't-care vibe shocked me. I wanted to be her.
I could have been her, before my utesaurus started eating babies. I could have gone grocery shopping for the new parents on my break. I could have spoken with pride and joy about the birth of my best friend's child. I could have been there for every pregnancy milestone. Seeing A act with such concern and kindness was like watching myself in a mirror to some weird opposite land, where babies don't die, and people don't break up with their friends when they reproduce.
My oh my how RPL can change a gal.
