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.