Maturity and Babyfruit

I'm a little bit proud of myself. First, I have an idea about a business I could start. I need to get together a lot more details and information, but I think it is a good, solid idea. More to come on that. Secondly, I let someone know (gently, I hope) that what she said hurt me and did not need to be said again. I called her within 24 hours and spoke with her and figured out the situation without getting mad or angry and saying mean things or sending harshly worded emails. I'm thinking that this was a much more mature way of dealing with something that hurt or offended me. Maybe I should try it more often.

I've written about the awful websites I've found on miscarriage, but I wanted to let you all in on a wonderful website I've some across: babyfruit.com. The author had four miscarriages before giving birth to her daughter. I think she's like me and believes that knowledge is power because she's trying to get a book written and a documentary done; both on miscarriage. It still is this thing, an elephant, in a room of women that no one talks about. When I had mine, I was surprised to find out how many family members and friends of my mom had miscarriages. I think it should be something that is discussed in sex education classes (actually, there are a lot of things I think should be added to those classes). Or maybe just not as taboo as it has become. I have hope, though, because there are so many women talking and connecting and discussing everything from infertility to refinishing furniture. I guess I believe in openness. I know I believe in honesty.

In that vein, my feelings were hurt this weekend. I was having a pleasant Saturday with my sister (B), who is more like a close friend, and we went to Aggieville to hang out with S. He had us meet up with K. I've known K since I was sixteen and I lived with him and E right before I got married and we had such a good time. I've been angry at K because he wouldn't return my phone calls (you know, one to catch up, one to tell him I'm pregnant, two more to hope he's still alive). B told him I was pregnant quite awhile ago and I assumed S told him that I wasn't. Although, S, it was not your responsibility and I am sorry that I acted like it was. We met up with K, he gave me a hug, acknowledged that he knew why I was angry, and patted my belly. My flat belly. I just stared at him not comprehending. Then, "I miscarried. I lost the baby." I know he felt bad, but I don't think he realized how bad I felt having to say that. If you know me well, you know what the rest of our forty minutes together were like: me trying to make him pay for not staying in contact and saying that, and him trying to defend himself. Probably uncomfortable for both B and S - I'm sorry you guys. In the entire hour, we picked up a really cool St. Patrick's Day shirt (B), I had the greatest hug with S, K broke something (in addition to my heart?), and there was drinking (me). It was an interesting, rough day. And K, I don't consider this talking trash, I consider it telling the story of my Saturday. If you would have called me back, ever, Saturday wouldn't have happened like that. Think about it.