I’m not sure how many times I’ve done that over the last year or so because I’ve lost count, but I think I’m getting quite good at disguising it from Dave. I don’t think he knows, and if he didn’t, he will when he reads this.
I just let the tears fall silently down my face, soaking my pillow. Because I can’t give in to my wracking sobs, as that would draw Dave’s attention, I just let the sorrow seep through my eyes. I ignore the huge and suffocating lump in my throat, and suppress the need to sniff to clear my snotty nose, and just weep. I weep so much that my teeth hurt.
I don’t WANT to do that. I don’t WANT my last thoughts as I fall to sleep to be heartbreaking ones. I don’t WANT to hide from Dave that I’m overcome by my emotions (I only do that because he gets cross that I’m so sad, not in a mean way but a protective way). But I can’t help it. The night times are the worst. There are no distractions from your thoughts.
I want to escape for a couple of days. I was googling just before bed last night isolated cottages by the sea. I want to be on my own, without my phone, without any link to the outside world, and just give in. Give in to all the tears. Give in to all the anguish. Scream as loud as I want without anybody around to hear and investigate. I want to read books and magazines. I want to sleep. I just want to sleep. I’m so tired.
I knew this upcoming week was going to be a shit one.
This week we have a Mother’s Day service at church. A reminder that I am still not a mother yet.
It is my mum’s birthday on Tuesday. A reminder that I still haven’t made her a grandmother yet.
It is my birthday on Wednesday. A reminder that another year has passed and I am still not a mother yet.
It is the anniversary of our chemical pregnancy on Saturday. A reminder that we could have been parents to a 3 month old by now. But we’re not.
And Sunday is Mother’s Day in the U.K. I don’t know if we’re seeing my mum on that day because we’re all going out to eat on Friday night to celebrate joint birthdays anyway. If we’re not seeing her, then I need to find a way of not wallowing in misery next weekend as an alternative.
I could get drunk. But that won’t help matters. It won’t help my weight loss either, especially as I need to focus hard on eating right with 2, possibly 3, meals out in the next week.
And amongst all this, Dave shows just how amazing he is.
My husband is not a talker. He is a typical caveman. He sulks when he’s upset. He gives me the silent treatment when we (rarely) have an argument. He doesn’t open up to his friends, least of all on Facebook. His Facebook rarely mentions me at all actually. It’s all football and banter.
But on Wednesday, when a pregnancy announcement from one of his mates triggered an ache in both our hearts, he posted this –
Many men won’t openly talk about this subject, but the emotional rollercoaster of trying to become a father and failing is absolutely heartbreaking and demoralising. It’s the only thing I haven’t done in my life so far. One day it will happen, until that day comes, there’s a massive void in mine and my wife’s life. Believe it or not, I do have feelings and having to keep all of the, bottled up and private, putting on a fake smile in front of everyone, whilst they are blissfully unaware of your struggles is just awful. I can’t hide it any longer, this is me, this is my situation at the moment. It sucks. Here’s to a hopeful silver lining of dirty nappies and sleepless nights, because my god this will all be worth it in the end.
Many of his friends liked it or commented. Some reached out to him privately. And another waited a couple of days to contact him and say he was expecting too.
And do you know what Dave did? He swallowed his pain, put a separate post congratulating those who have announced pregnancies, and apologised for not doing so sooner but explained that it hadn’t been a great time recently. He’s a much bigger person than I am.
I haven’t congratulated his mate yet. The one who announced on Wednesday. I will do eventually, when I’m ready. But not yet.
We also have another of his mates who is expecting his ex to give birth any day this month. Every time I go on Facebook I prepare myself to see his announcement of his daughter’s arrival. I’ll congratulate him too. Eventually.
I would hate it if one of my friends was secretly pregnant and couldn’t tell me for fear of my reaction. I will ALWAYS be happy for them.
But I will always be sad for me too.