Yesterday, a friend at work was telling me how his wife told him they were expecting. It was a really great, creative way.
But kind of sad. If you're me.
I used to always dream up unforgettable ways to tell my husband and our families that I was pregnant. It would be great. As a woman, you're the first to know. Even if you both are hoping for it and waiting for it, as a woman, you're the first to suspect something, and the first to really know. It gives you a position of power over this information.
So yeah, I always thought it would be so wonderful to be able to break the news.
Unfortunately, I've had a lot of experience in breaking the bad news. Nope. Not yet. Nothing feels different. Maybe next time. The test said no.
A lot of times, I'd just ignore the tests without any kind of announcement to Justin, hoping he'd forget to ask. Because I didn't want to have to say it out loud.
But he always did. And I'd always have to say it.
As Mrs. R says, adoption is a cure for childlessness. It's not a cure for infertility. There are still moments. Moments when I'm sharing in someone else's ultimate joy that suddenly I pull up short with a very rude reality check.
It strikes at the most random times. At least I've developed a good game face.