I had absolutely no idea how powerful a song could be. I know that music speaks to your soul, and can bring you to tears. I just didn't expect the reaction I had last night.
It was a cozy day--rainy and sleety and cold. We had slept in and gotten a late start on the day. We ran errands, we went to some neat little shops, we cleaned and organized around the house. While on our errands, we received beautiful compliments on our relationship from virtual strangers. While at the bank, there were these robot wind-up toys on the counter. Bryce said, "That girl one reminds me of something, I can't put a finger on it..." I looked at it and immediately knew what it reminded him of. "It reminds you of Joan Ri.vers' character in Space.balls!" He started laughing--that was EXACTLY what he was thinking! The teller thought it was great--she said, "Well, you're certainly with the right girl." It was such a small thing, but so amazing to realize how in sync we are. Then, at one of my favorite shops for home decorating, we got into a conversation while checking out with way too many candles (I have a seasonal candle addiction, luckily so does Bryce). The ladies at the counter asked how long we'd been married, and that we seem so happy and in love. That we always come in as such a complement to each other, and how lovely that is to see. Then, actually, Friday night at our weekly Mexican food date night, we sat across from this lovely Scottish couple who were a few beverages in and very friendly--they also talked to us about their daughter's traditional Scottish wedding but then said we looked like such a loving couple, such a wonderful pair. It was a weekend of post-anniversary affirmations that we have such an awesome relationship, even through all this shit, that we ooze happiness and compatibility. It was a beautiful, ongoing compliment.
We topped off the night at home, with a bottle of Saint Estephe bordeaux, candles making our house smell like oranges and spice, leftovers (not so fancy) and roasted Delicata squash (so super yummy). We decided to play a trivia game, Foodie Fight. (It's all about food preparation, serving, wine pairings, restaurants, famous chefs, etc. etc.-- yes, we know we're total food/wine snots and nerds to boot.) The game is a lot of fun and we're pretty even with it--I have a creepy memory that retains all kinds of random facts, but Bryce is incredibly well-versed in food, food science, and restauranteurs. I had put on a mix of music--some torchy jazz, some torchy Tom Wa.itts, what I thought was going to be mostly Antonio Bada.lamente jazz but was more creepy movie score (thanks a lot, Blue Vel.vet), and a sprinkling of Barry W.hite. What could go wrong?
Well, there was a song listed in our music server (yes, nerds, I know) as Barry Whi.te, but it so wasn't. It came on towards the end of the night. I love this song, but it had a reaction totally unexpected and visceral.
The song is Sexy Thing by Hot Cho.colate.
Why, why on earth would a song that's basically a "hey baby" come-on to some sexy lady make me cry?
It's on my stupid playlist. The song's chorus is "I believe in miracles...since you came along! You sexy thing!" and includes phrases like "How did you know, I needed you so badly? How did you know, I'd give my heart gladly?" Again, seems a little creepy. Embryos are not, um, sexy. But I love the whole believing in miracles thing, and I love how it's celebrating this miracle that's arrived, even if for the singer it's some hot ticket he wants to spend sexytimes with, and for me it is an implanted embryo. Because this song is a song that I played throughout my ectopic pregnancy (before I knew that's what it was) and a song I played during my last pregnancy, which was even shorter. It was a song I played during the two week wait to encourage my miracle to happen. It's a song that for some reason, last night, jettisoned me back to a time when I was full of hope and happiness and we thought we had finally made it... and then again to how it felt as I was losing both those miracles. This does not make for a very romantic end to a lovely evening. This makes for a sobbing, crumply wife blowing snot into her husband's t-shirt (totally unintentionally) and feeling like a total, complete, utter failure. We can do this relationship thing with flair and talent, but we just can't seem to seal the deal on that next step.
Earlier on Saturday, when we were eating our late and horribly unhealthy lunch (burgers and fries), there was a two year old girl peeking around chairs in the restaurant. She was adorable. She kept making eyes at us. She giggled. It was a beautiful sound. Bryce stared at her (in a totally non-creeper way of course), and then turned to me. "It's really going to be fun when we nail this" he said. I was already a little on the quiet side, but I thought and thought and turned that over in my mind. A bit later Bryce was concerned that his comment had upset me. Actually, it made me incredibly happy. We spend so much time getting stomped on in this process that Bryce's protection mechanism is to say things like "It's so hard to believe this is ever going to happen for us" or "I just can't see parenthood in my future." Things that help him cope but drive me batty because they are so devoid of hope and don't exactly put positive, welcoming energy into the universe. So this one statement, "It's really GOING to be fun WHEN we nail this," was a beautiful ray of sunshine. It was a feeling that if Bryce can believe this is actually going to happen, if he can be hopeful and put that WHEN, not IF out there, then maybe we're actually headed down a path that will result in our own little miracle. I loved his statement. And I thought about his statement after I pulled the pieces of my broken heart together after that stupid R&B song catapulted me down a very dark, very sad memory lane. Because part of that trip wasn't sad. Part of it was the incredible feeling of hope and joy that I felt each time I had life growing inside me. The fact that I can't stop myself from getting excited when that positive comes around, no matter how tenuous it is. Even though my track record is horrible, I need to still believe in miracles. And I am so glad to have a husband who is also capable of believing that the miracle isn't pie-in-the-sky. That we will add a miracle or two to our happy household.
And hopefully the croonings of Hot Chocolate will convert back into a sexy song, and not a weird anthem for hope in the midst of loss... once that miracle happens for keeps.