Tag Archives: miscarriage

Afterward (Or: I guess the joke was on me).

So, like you’ve probably already guessed from reading my last post, this didn’t turn out like we’d hoped.

We only had a few weeks to enjoy it. Things rather quickly went south and then it was over.

These things happen. They happen more often than many of us want to think about. It sucked but I was ok. It was pretty early on after all. If it’s going to end or go bad, I think sooner rather than later is better for all.

Of course, all people see this differently, so I am only speaking for myself when I say that although it really sucked, it wasn’t tragic. It was more the loss of a potential than anything bigger, like an actual thing. It could have been something, and that would have been great, but it just didn’t get that far.

After all was said and done – and there was stuff I’ll talk about later – we only told a few people what had happened. Of those friends and family we did tell, most of them found out at the same time that I’d been pregnant at all.

That was pretty much the end of the story. Even though I was feeling quite at peace with it, it wasn’t a topic others seemed to be very comfortable with. So I didn’t talk about it. This seemed particularly prudent because immediately following this incident were a whole bunch of weddings, big birthdays and parties. I didn’t want to bum anyone out, and instead grinned through the inevitable (and well-meant) family-planning questions and insinuations that accompany such events and filed away what happened as one of those sucky, but often inevitable bumps in the road.

Other than the obvious, what I really regretted was that I wasn’t able to tell people about giving Oliver the book.

It was such a waste of a great story.

…and before I can get on with what’s going on now, I have to get the rest out. A bit of it was funny, most of it sucked. If you’re not into pregnancy stuff, check back in about a week. 

The best joke I never planned.

Last year on April 1st, when he picked me up from the evening train from Munich, I took Oliver to a nearby hotel bar for a sundowner. After we ordered our drinks, I handed him a gift bag overflowing with colored tissue paper. He pulled out a bundle and unwrapped this book:

"One Man, One Book: Certain things in life that a man should know."

I had my life list, I told him and I knew he had one too, at least in his head. And since he hadn’t written one down, I explained, I thought I would give him a book of ideas to inspire him.

Then I told him to open it to a particular page and read the entry. As he flipped through the pages, I handed him a pen, telling him that he could already check something off.

He took the pen and his eyes dropped to the page. Reaching the bottom, I saw his brow furrow a little. I saw him read it again, the little crease getting deeper.

He stared at the page, and then looked up at me, bemused… or perhaps insulted?

Whatever it was, this was not the expression I was expecting at all. I took the book from him and looked at the page he had read.

Oops.

I’d intended for him to look at this page:

Maybe I should have included a helpful arrow.

But instead he’d read this page:

(Translation: How to fake an orgasm.)

And that’s how I told him the first time I was pregnant.

(Translation: How to father a child.)