Club Uterus

I am sad again. I’m trying to figure out why after my miscarriage, the site (sight, I mean – I also need to discern why I insist upon replacing “ght” words with “te” when writing online) of other pregnant women gave me a pounding headache but this time, I’m more okay with it.

But despite this sign that I’m learning to accept happy pregnancies as something other than a cosmic insult to my womanhood, random events make me remember that Natan is gone too soon. Like just a few minutes ago. I’m writing at a coffee shop, and I needed to use the bathroom. I walked up to, and tried to open, the door. It was locked. Another woman who was standing further away, said, “Actually, I’m already in line for that.” I probably imagined it, but her tone seemed obnoxious to me. I certainly didn’t express it, but I felt so angry.

I think I know why her reasonable behavior stung me. Just a few nights before I went into labor, I had to make an emergency bathroom stop in a local bookstore. There were two more women in line, and the woman before us was taking far too long. Both I and the woman behind me were pregnant. When the woman in the bathroom finally came out, the first woman in line said, “You two go first, I remember those days well.” The other pregnant woman and I smiled a thankful smile at her, and a knowing smile at each other. I was so grateful because I was beginning to worry I might explode. I was so happy with my pregnant state.

I should be almost eight months along now, and even more in need of jumping bathroom lines. I feel like I’ve been unfairly kicked out of an exclusive club.


2 responses to “Club Uterus

  1. It is unfair, and I hope you feel a bit better soon. The time leading up until my due dates was always the hardest.

  2. In November and December, after I lost my twins, while I was still on leave from work, I used to sit at a nearby coffee shop and pretend to drink lattes and cry.

    Since everyone else was at work, or, perhaps, home with their children, the only people that I ever seemed to see were very pregnant women or, worse yet, new mothers pushing a parade of strollers, with tiny blue or pink bundles.

    It’s a cliche and far from a comforting one that, eventually, time dilutes grief. I’m thinking of you.

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