A year

Today marks a year since the due date for a - what word should I use here? baby? embryo? product of conception? - which became my first miscarriage. Last year my cousin gave birth to her kid on this very day, too, and I was crying and thought my heart was breaking again. Little did I know. I went on to have more miscarriages, and now it's all on hold; I em expecting my surgery, and I am not sure I would be able to even get pregnant anymore after that. Sometimes I feel like a freaking Ancient Mariner with all this history piling up on my chest, and with this overwhelming urge to come to every FB entry of moms of two and more who complain about their hectic schedule and sleepless nights, and tell them how lucky they are. I have managed to keep myself from doing it, so far. I certainly need to get a life. Some other kind of life that doesn't involve online... or babies, or playgrounds, or baby stuff in our garage. An adult, post-fertile kind of life. I typed this, and then I remembered a 7-months pregnant woman sitting down next to me in sushi bar. Of all places.
I just need to somehow let it go, let go of all these - babies? embryos? products of conception? - and my dreams for them. Let it go, there's life to live and a kid to love and take care of, and a husband to love, and parents to email and call and Skype with, and all kinds of relatives I need to keep in the loop of my and my kid's life if I want her to have relationships with them. I just feel so painfully unable to reach out. Sometimes I feel I have nothing to say to any of them.