Follow me on the crazy, hopeful, discouraging, funny, and ultimately successful (one way or another) path to parenthood while facing infertility.

Monday, January 12, 2015

#Microblog Mondays: Mourning in Home Depot



In the interest of getting all parts of our lives moving forward, after seeing The House (which has sold, thank goodness, and no longer haunts us quite so intensively), we decided we'd seriously look into selling our house in the near future so that we can find and buy our forever home. So, we met with a realtor, who (sight unseen) said that if we felt our kitchen was outdated that we should update it before putting our house on the market, that we would definitely reap the benefits of that upgrade. How ironic, that we may finally get a beautiful kitchen that works for us in this house right as we're saying goodbye.

Tonight we met with the designer in our local Home Depot, and gave measurements and picked out possible cabinet styles and colors and countertops and all that jazz, and then sat and stared into space while she drew up the schematics--well, sort of stared into space. 

Bryce was wearing this little hat (he has virtually no hair so his head gets cold and Home Depot is drafty), and he leaned back in his chair and yawned. For some reason, the way his face moved, and the way the hat was on his head, I could just see exactly what a baby would look like that had his facial features, a baby that was contentedly yawning in our arms just like he was (well, maybe not JUST like he was, as Bryce is now sporting a full beard and that looks kind of funny on a baby). 

I was suddenly completely overcome with a wave of incredible sadness. We have one questionable shot left of having a baby that has those features, with the 2PNs in February, and then that shot is officially gone. Which we knew, but somehow, seeing a little apparition of that baby-that-could-be in the middle of Home Depot really brought home the incredible loss that we are most likely facing, and how much mourning is buried inside me.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

17 comments:

  1. Sending a hug. Those moments hit you hard because they come out of nowhere, when you least expect them.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I know how you feel--we upgraded our condo in DC in the 12 months before we moved to NC. I was so sad to say goodbye to all the pretty upgrades.

    The hardest thing for me is when I see posts about babies/children having the mannerisms or facial expressions of their dads/grandmas/aunts/etc. It makes me so incredibly sad to lose that connection. You know in your head that it won't matter, but your heart, for right now, is sensitive.

    Sending another hug, my friend.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It is hard, and it's hard to realize that while of course it won't truly matter in the long run, that sadness is a part of you. It just seems so colossally unfair that we have to lose this connection to gain a more meaningful one. Hopefully.

      Delete
    2. And thank you very much for the hug! Much appreciated!

      Delete
  3. I'm really sorry. It's so tough when that happens, especially - as Mel said - when it comes when you least expect it, and when you aren't braced to protect yourself from the shock.

    Hugs from me too.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you for the hug! I am feeling very hugged and comforted and nurtured, which is lovely. Yes, exactly-- I wasn't braced to protect myself from the shock. Perfectly put.

      Delete
  4. Ugh, I've experienced this, too. The unexpected moments like this are the hardest because they just knock you back into reality. Hugs.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Unexpected moments of sadness are the worst. I wish no one had to experience them (as unrealistic as that is)! Thank you for your hug!

      Delete
  5. We "upgraded" our kitchen before (or actually in the middle of selling because we weren't getting any offers). I determined to paint cabinets and add some bead board (lipstick and rouge; smoke and mirrors). Well we had two showings after it was finished and both made offers...so I'm a believer in the update.
    Also I know what you mean about the looks of a baby. Sometimes I wonder if Jeff misses seeing me in our kids. Sometimes I miss it a little. It never really matters to me but like the person above said it's those posts or people who comment on a child looking just like the parent that get to me a little occasionally. My heart is swallowed up in love for my kids though whether I share genetics with them or not and I think I would feel the same if we'd gone the adoption route. I think whatever route is successful for you that you'll feel a perfect fit with that child(ren). And I love what the doctor said in your other post too. You guys will be amazing parents. I know that doesn't take the heartache but just my thoughts. Thinking of you.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much for those thoughts! I so appreciate them. I am just so anxious for the day when my heart is swallowed up in love for my kids -- what a great way to put it. It will be a beautiful family whenever and however it is cobbled together, but it just hurts that it's so peppered with loss. And yeah, isn't our doctor just awesome? We are super lucky. Here's hoping we're REALLY super lucky... Thank you for your thoughts (and the thoughts on the updating too--I love examples of it making a huge difference in selling!).

      Delete
  6. Isn't is just so sad/frustrating/annoying when moments like this occur when we least expect them?! And, out in public for that matter!
    Every now and again I look at my husband and feel sadness that there will never be a little us running around.
    Best wishes on the kitchen reno. In our first house, we learned a valuable lesson as we planned to move and only did renos that would help with resale - if you plan to sell, remember to make all your choices reflect what the average buyer will want, not what you want.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ugh, yes. The public was the worst. Luckily it was 8:30 pm in Home Depot and "public" was just the kitchen dept lady, and I could hold myself together enough that only Bryce could tell I was a mess inside. Hard not to feel the sadness in this moment, now, when there is no good news just yet.

      THanks for the advice on the kitchen work--I completely agree that we need to design a everyone-friendly kitchen. I keep telling Bryce, "It's not our kitchen anymore! This is someone else's kitchen!" in part for him and mostly to remind myself. Ha. I think cream cabinets, rearranging things so we have more counter space and more storage space and that "magic triangle" thing for the sink-stove-refrigerator, and having new taupe-ish solid surface counters should be universally appealing, right? That wallpaper I have not-so-secretly hated since moving in is going to go, too. WOO HOO for change. I keep telling myself that the new kitchen in the hypothetical, awesome new house is going to be even better. Or so we hope!

      Delete
  7. Hugs to you. There is so much pent up emotion at this stage in the process... Grief, anxiety, hope, sadness, fear... And then these little moments pop out of nowhere and suddenly the feelings all well up. I get it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you -- it was just such a sucker punch. Luckily I've gotten really good at hiding horrendous pain in public. Only Bryce saw that I was ridiculously sad, and I couldn't tell him about it until we got home lest I weep all over the countertop samples. And you are so right--this stage in the process, now that we're in it, is so much harder than I thought it was going to be.

      Delete
  8. Hugs for you. Sounds like a lot of emotions all rolled into a fleeting moment of a hoped dream. Sending thoughts of peace in your heart as you head into February.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much -- I appreciate your thoughts of peace! I was definitely surprised to be hit with such a strong reaction to such a fleeting moment. It's such a strange place to be.

      Delete