Sister in law tells me all about a tattoo she wants to get representing my brother, her two children, and her father who passed away. I tell her about the tattoo I was thinking about getting to represent my miscarriage.
"So you guys still trying?"
"Yeah, but we're sort of on a break to save money for more treatments. We need about $4,000 for an injectable medicated cycle."
"What are the odds of it working?"
"My doc thinks the odds are good. I have the parts, they work, I'm just not making the hormones to make them work."
"All that money just to have a baby, and then the cost after..."
"Yeah, well we're hoping one time is enough. We're willing to try it twice, after that it's on to adoption."
"I have a sick kid in there I'd love to give you, she comes complete with clothes and everything."
I change the subject after a momentary awkward silence.
I wonder if I'll be able to cope better with this type of awkwardness, or if it's just going to make me more bitter and bitchy as the years go on.
One family Thanksgiving down, one completely avoided, and one more to go.
It's moments like this when I wonder why my parents, and my husbands, all had to get divorced. (But in honesty, I am quite thankful they did get divorced. Some people just should not be together.) At least my dad doesn't celebrate the Holidays, he's a regular old bachelor. But still, we end up having to go three different places every freaking year to everyone's little rendezvous. It's like overkill.
More ranting coming to you soon.