Disappointing Disappointments

Today is Easter. The Christian day of rebirth. Here, in Washington state, it is gray. The morning started with rain. I can see my cherry tree blooming from my seat on the couch, though. However, it is a weeping cherry, so the variety name is enough to bring you back down in case the pretty white flowers boost your spirits too much.

Yes, it's one of those posts. Depression Lite from Laura.

This week started well. It was Spring Break. It was warm and sunny on Monday, and the boys and I met some classmates of Hutton's at the nearby park for a picnic lunch and some play time. That evening, I stopped by the grocery store to pick up some food, and while there, I got something else -- a pregnancy test.

It was positive, but so faint I wondered if it were just an evaporation mark. The next day, the boys and I went to my best friend's house. They played with her son while my friend baked cookies and I sat and watched and talked to her. She heard my possible news, and I told her about my nervousness, surprise, and excitement. On the way home, I stopped at the drug store to get another, more reliable test.

Soon after the boys and I got home, I started rearranging the living room into Spring mode. I took the wintery slipcovers off the couch and loveseat, switched around the pillows, and was happy in the knowledge that it was Spring again. Hubby came home as I was moving pillows.

He broke the news right away: his sister had called, and her baby-to-be's due date was moved up, and she needed her mother. The back story: a few months ago, Hubby found out he was to attend a week-long conference in Las Vegas for work at the end of April. He would only have a few events he was required to attend, but his company was putting him up in a hotel for the whole week, and did I want to go, too? Damn straight I wanted to go to a sunny, warm place for a week. The problem: his mother, the reliable go-to sitter who'd be willing to watch two children for a week for free, because they are her grandchildren (plus take care of granddogs and grandcats), was going to be in Charlotte with her daughter, because her fourth grandchild was due at the end of April. Hubby called his sister, and she said she was fine if their mother came out here for the week. She could have her in-laws come to help with her daughter, and her mother could fly to Charlotte from Washington. Great. Problem solved. MIL would get to see her grandsons, then fly straight on to meet her newest grandson.


I started to get excited about Vegas. I bought some cute spring dresses and a new bathing suit. The fact that my foot was still in a cast from my broken ankle dampened the spirit a bit, but I was looking forward to sitting by the pool, whether my calf muscle on my right leg were there or not. When I got the cast off, and it was replaced by an even uglier walking boot, I was a bit disappointed -- I would not be quite as cute in the dresses and sandals, as I'd still be hobbling around with a big black velcro contraption, but still: sun. Pool. Look at the big picture. Totally worth it.

So, the news that I would not be going to Vegas with Hubby after all was a disappointment. However, I felt stupid and selfish for feeling disappointed. After all, my sister-in-law was about to have a baby. She deserved to have her mother there for the birth. I was trying to get away from my children! No comparison. Still, even though my disappointment wasn't righteous, it was there.

But, there were other more important things to move on to: the new digital pregnancy test was still hiding in the shopping bag. I took it upstairs, too impatient to wait for the next morning. The three minutes wait were among the longest of my life. Then, the readout appeared: PREGNANT. I was shocked. Elated. There was no doubt now. A definite positive. I crutched out of the bathroom with it, and ran into Hubby on the stairs.

"I was going to save this, but might as well..." I started, then showed him the test.

He was confused, "What, is this old? Or new?"

"Oh, I meant, I was going to wait to show you when we went to Vegas, but now figured I might as well just tell you right away."

He was surprised. And happy. "I'm happy about your news." He told me a few minutes later, after processing it.

The next day, he brought home a big bouquet of spring flowers. Vegas was becoming less important by the minute. The news was sinking in that we were going to have our third child. We had not been trying, but we had discussed a third child, and though I felt ambivalent before, seeing the positive test made me realize I definitely wanted this baby. I was happy with my secret. Hubby and my best friend knew, but I wanted to wait a few more weeks to tell everyone else.

And then, Saturday morning, the biggest disappointment yet: the telltale drops of blood. I was miscarrying. If I hadn't taken the tests earlier in the week, I probably would have never known I was pregnant, just thought my period was a few weeks late. But I knew. And I was sad. And terribly disappointed. Saturday morning I had been thinking about the Christmas card for this year: the boys with their new sister (of course I had pictured a girl!) as the due date calculator said December 6. What a wonderful Christmas gift for everyone!

I knew that this wasn't meant to be. A chemical pregnancy, or there was probably a problem. In between moments of elation at my pregnancy, I'd had the fears that something would be wrong. I had had my ankle x-rayed last week, and even though I'd had the lead apron, I worried. The supplements I took before I found out. With Harrison's pregnancy, I was already well-along before Hutton was diagnosed with autism, so I didn't second-guess everything. This time, everything I'd done in March ran through my head. But now, it was over. No reason to obsess over the possible things that could go wrong, or right. Just another of life's disappointments.