Remember how yesterday I said I was sanguine about this cycle and patiently waiting for ovulation to occur? Ha.
Today I got to start the day with a knife twisting in my heart: when I picked up my phone this morning, there was a message waiting. The voice was cheerful.
“Hi, I’m calling from campus day care to let you know that a spot opened up for your baby!”
Our daughter should be a month and a half old now. She should be starting daycare in June. She should be keeping us up at night, starting to smile at us, making baby noises. She should not be dead.
After she died I made a lot of calls to cancel prenatal classes, cancel ultrasound appointments, cancel all the plans we had made during the 4.5 months she’d been growing inside me. Somehow I forgot about the daycare waiting list. But still, it’s remarkable how often these painful reminders occur. Our daughter’s life was so short, but it echoes through our lives so powerfully six months later. We told people; they were happy for us. Naturally they want to follow up. People I haven’t seen in a while ask how the baby is: colleagues, acquaintances, former students, my dentist. I feel fortunate that so many people care enough to ask, but at the same time it’s painful. Every well-meaning person who remembers our daughter is a ticking time bomb waiting to blow up my emotions for the day. I have to be nearing the end of the minefield by now, don’t I?
OK, time to rip off the band-aid: I’m calling campus daycare back right now.