While I adore my Aunt Bonnie, my phone conversation this afternoon kind of made me want to throw up. After a nice, long catch up, things took a turn for... wierd. (It's probably only fair for me to note that my aunt and uncle were total free-loving hippies who more than dabbled in their share of mind-altering substances during their college days. Sure, they're wonderful and successful people now, but sometimes I scratch my head and wonder how they made it this far.) It went a little bit like this:
Me: Also, we'll definitely be at the beach for Thanksgiving, so that's exciting.
Aunt B: Ohhh, yeah? So how are you doing with everything?
Me: Oh, you know. I'm feeling much better now, but I am getting a little frustrated and antsy. It's been 7 months since we stopped not trying to get pregnant... which means I could be 7 months along by now. And instead I feel like I'm... negative months along.
Aunt B: I know, I know. But I believe Mother Nature has her plan and the human body is an incredible thing. Just try to relax (lightening bolts) and enjoy this time (thunder clashing). This might be too much information--
Me: Nothing is too much information at this point--
Aunt B: *laughs* I remember, after trying for so many years to not get pregnant and then finally having that freedom... to create a child of love with the person who you love... it was such an exciting and emotional time. To conceive a human being with no taking temperatures or rushing to beat the clock or keeping track of signs... out of nothing but the love between two people... I really loved that time.
*cue Joni Mitchell*
*free the doves*
Me: Hmm. I remember that time. It lasted a couple months. And then my baby-- my dream for my future, my hopes, my vision of myself as a mother-- died and all that naive crap about magically creating a love child died along with it.
Just another reason why I sometimes hate talking about my miscarriage with mothers who have never been there. I wish I could just accept advice like this, knowing that it is meant with all the best of intentions. But instead I feel like I'm being told how I should feel or think. I don't know what I expect from people... honestly. It's not their fault they haven't been through this before. They just want to help. And then I get all bitchy over words that really are coming from their heart. They're damned if they do and damned if they don't. Maybe I should just not talk about it anymore.