We drove a total of 6 hours last night to spend 2 hours celebrating a friend's 40th birthday. I'm so glad we went, and I know it meant a lot to our friend that we made the effort to be there, even if we did leave at midnight because we are lame like that.
When we got there, I wondered if his girlfriend was wearing a particularly unflattering shirt. Nope, she's due in February. They are the sweetest couple and will be incredible parents. I was truly, truly happy to hear their news. On this night, there were no twinges of jealousy or longing. Just happiness for them.
It seemed to hit my husband kind of hard, though. On the drive home, he asked me if I'd asked her if it was planned. (I told him in no uncertain terms no, but that she volunteered a little bit of info that makes it sound like it was unplanned but completely welcome. They've been together for ages, I should add.) At the party, he quietly asked me if I was upset that it couldn't be us, too.
I took the opportunity on the drive home to reassure him that I don't blame him at all and that I've heard IVF is scary from the sound of it, but the actuality isn't so bad. You see, we have stopped talking about the whole baby thing for the most part. He's still feeling guilty and overwhelmed. There's not much we can do until his second semen analysis confirms the doctor's diagnosis. So there's no point in inviting the elephant into the room. He'll poke his head in every now and then so that he knows we haven't forgotten about him, but he can go graze in the yard for a while. (Do elephants graze? What about the fact that we live on the 6th floor without an elevator and have no yard? Am I totally blowing my metaphor?)
All of the unhappy Princess Diana coverage reminds me that I'm lucky to be in such a loving marriage. He's taking this hard, sure, because it affects his 'manhood', but more because he's worried about me. We fell asleep at 3 am holding hands.
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