melancholia

I was commenting on mighty girl's 100 things worth doing entry (http://mightygirl.com/2008/03/18/100-things-worth-doing/) and I got weepy (inexplicably) about my plum tomato baby. After seeing my beautiful baby Owen, I understand why miscarriages happen- it must be nearly impossible to produce a healthy all put-together-correctly baby, especially on the first try. But my plum tomato baby will always be a part of my life, even though I think I thought I was over it- her? I always think of it as a her. I will never be able to truly bond with a baby in utero, which made me feel VERY guilty when I was pregnant with Owen. The guilt evaporated the moment we locked eyes for the first time, so I feel okay with that. Actually, he is the first baby I didn't try to bond with, and he is the first that stuck. So there you go. Maybe my babies just need personal space.
When I was pregnant with Owen, I waited over a week to tell my mother, 12 weeks to tell most people, and some people I never told at all. (Which incidentally led to a friend visiting unexpectedly when Owen was 2 weeks old- one of the best memories I have of those early, fuzzy sore post-partum days). To be honest, I hate people who announce pregnancies before 12 weeks, because I am so jealous of their smug joy in a baby, in a pregnancy that they are sure will last. I also hate my neighbor, who said "That's awfully early to be announcing it" with plum tomato, when Craig told her at 10 weeks. I started miscarrying that afternoon. I am convinced she is an out of work witch who stalks us, as she sits, typing endlessly on her computer as she stares out the window in her sandels from 1992, yellow toenails needing a trim.
So here is my public apology to plum tomato: I am sorry I took Motrin, possibly contributing to your demise. I am sorry you were flushed down the toilet. I am not sorry that I did not rescue you, so they could take you apart at the hospital. I think of you every day, sweet tomato.