How Do I Look?
I asked Pete as we left the house. Beautiful, he answered. I had my new dress on. And a cute cardigan and cute summer heels. I painted my nails and toenails red. I put the perfect summer makeup on, complete with strategically applied shimmer. It was our first social outing since the miscarriage and I wanted to look like I totally had it together. NO PROBLEM OVER HERE, I'M JUST FINE. I was going to be around lots of people that didn't know what happened and I had done a number on myself putting all this pressure on making sure I could still be charming and interesting and funny and etc. etc. etc. Even though I feel otherwise.
My voice broke when I asked Pete again, "I don't look ... broken? Like someone that can't hold onto a pregnancy?" My lip quivered and I teared up.
He hugged me and reminded me that no one is expecting me to be anything but myself. Be myself. If that's sad, then let that be it. Just be myself. We got there, and it wasn't so bad after all. We were there for 6 hours and the most uncomfortable part was when a probing pregnant lady asked me if we were going to have another, then asked if I'd consider IVF, I told her about the miscarriage. It's a conversation stopper, I'll tell you that for certain. But my husband's friend's wife (who knew what happened) was sitting there too and very and cheerily said, I hope they can find out what's wrong. And that was sweet.
I know for certain that the more I venture out there, tearing down the Do Something That Scares You things that are in my own way -- the things that eat me up and whip me up into a terrible foam -- the stronger I feel. I'm proud of today.