It occurs to me that perhaps one reason the Snorkelwacker seemed so fearsome is that I was in the closet with him.
Moi, in the closet about anything?
Yes, odd as it may seem, although I have revealed the intimate details of my reproductive health here on the interweb for all the world to see, I've been a bit shy about sharing certain, ahem, information with the people I see face to face every day. Which means that now that my belly is bulging, I'm getting a lot of strange and inquisitive looks. Eyebrows-meeting-hairlines types of looks.
A couple of days ago, I was getting ready to appear at an administrative hearing. The court reporter, whom I see at these things every couple of weeks, leaned over the table and asked,
"Are you expecting?"
What I heard was "Were you expecting . . . .?" And so I waited her to finish her sentence: "Are you expecting . . . . this hearing to take a long time?" Or, "Are you expecting . . . . to call a lot of witnesses?"
But no. She was asking whether I am expecting. As in, is that a fetus under your dress or are you just happy to see me?
I blushed. I stammered. I smiled and said, "Why, yes!"
"Congratulations!" she said.
And then I felt compelled to pour one for my homies. "It was a long road getting here," I said. "We lost a couple along the way."
Sympathetic and slightly confused look.
I'm not sure why, but I feel the need to say something like that every time someone congratulates me on this pregnancy. I think it's because the infertility part still hurts, and I want it to be more visible both for myself and for those still going through it, and because however delighted I am about this miraculous little one, it will not erase the pain of what it took to get here, or the fear that settles permanently in the heart of an infertile woman.
Healing is definitely possible. But not forgetting.