It’s official. I cried in a café yesterday. Maybe it was not such a wise thing to go around noon on a Saturday, but I really did not expect my reaction.
Everyone had a baby, a pregnant well-rounded shape or a couple of tumbling kids running around. Except for us. It came as a total surprise to me that I would take it so badly. I’ve been around kids and babies and strollers every day, I think, and it’s never made an impact before.
No thought can come between me and this sorrow. People keep telling me, how I should just think that I’ll have a baby one day. It doesn’t matter. Because I don’t think. I have no time to think. When I saw the children, I just felt so indescribably lacking. I didn’t think about having our own children, I didn’t have time to form a thought of us not getting a child. I just felt it. The void. I’m empty where the child should be.
Wonderboy was wonderful as usual. He just took my hand over the table and said, I guess it’s time for us to leave. He held my hand as we walked through the blinding snow gazing on to the beautiful, frozen lake, where people were skiing. I was snifling back my tears, thinking of the bobbing head of the newborn who had been held by his mother’s friend, also very pregnant in the next table. I hadn’t realized, how grave is the need to hold my own. But I did now.
When we were walking down the road there was a lady with a stroller coming towards us. Wonderboy swiftly suggested we change to the other side of the road and I didn’t object. The tears welled up again.
This is what I get for stopping the anti-depressants. I have to face my feelings. And I guess so do a lot of complete strangers. If they only knew, how incredibly happy they are. Maybe some of them do.