Mark has been in a foul mood since last night. We went to a birthday party for a friend and there were many babies and toddlers there. We knew there would be, but we wanted to support our friends (their journey though infertility and illness is heartbreaking). We hung out with adults, mostly from my work, and only really interacted with one child, but it was really hard especially for Mark. Then we got into an argument on the way home, a really stupid argument involving stopping the car to get a stray kitten out of the road. I insisted that we stop, he felt it was too dangerous. We stopped, and then I was mad at him and I accidentally slammed the middle finger of my left hand in the car door. Then he got really mad at me for injuring myself. He is super protective since I was pregnant. So now I have a smashed, bleeding finger and a yelling husband... great Saturday night. BTW the kitten safely ran out of the middle of the road as soon as I got out of the car.
He apologized for being an asshole, and I know it was just because he was stressed and grieving, but it still sucked.
So today we are at lunch with another friend and I am thinking that I should be 37 weeks pregnant now, big as a house with swollen ankles. I should being peeing 5 times a night and having trouble physically getting out of bed and the car and up off the couch. I should have heartburn. I should be getting the final touches to the nursery done and assembling our co-sleeper bassinet and packing my hospital bag. I should be doing all those things, but I am not because my baby died. I can move and bend any way I want. I can eat and drink anything I want. I can do all those things, but all I want is my baby back.