Two Lines

Virgos detest unpleas­ant sur­pris­es, this is an under­state­ment. We usu­al­ly see things com­ing our way like clock­work. We are often accused of being over-thinkers, and I’m not in the least sur­prised. We ana­lyze every sit­u­a­tion like it’s a chess game, plot­ting all the pos­si­ble moves and sce­nar­ios, and always twelve steps ahead in each of them.

Baby Daddy

When I met Chris online, I nev­er pegged him as boyfriend mate­r­i­al. Sure, I could tell he was smart, an intel­lec­tu­al, and had a wry sense of humor, qual­i­ties that would usu­al­ly lure me like bee to hon­ey. But I was in a deplorable state, I didn’t want a rela­tion­ship. I just came off a hor­ri­ble one. I was tired, I thought of becom­ing a nun, but he was breath of fresh air. Men don’t come knock­ing on my door. It’s not because I pos­sess a face only a moth­er could love, I get bored with the usu­al Johns, and my default rest­ing b*tch face doesn’t help. Men scare eas­i­ly. Most of them bore me, because they usu­al­ly come with a per­son­al­i­ty of a card­board. To me, they are either mun­dane or a god, most of the time the for­mer. Chris was nei­ther bor­ing nor cow­ard­ly.

He came, we met, long sto­ry short, we’re togeth­er. This wasn’t going to be one of my online dat­ing hor­ror sto­ries. And then came JJ.

Positive

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A few days before I was sup­posed to get my peri­od, I had a spot­ting. At first, I thought my peri­od came ear­ly. It turned out to be implan­ta­tion bleed­ing. I was a lit­tle hes­i­tant to tell Chris as he was trav­el­ing at that time. When I first sus­pect­ed that I was with child, my first thought was, “Could we be so lucky?” I felt that it is incon­ceiv­able for me to be preg­nant in my late thir­ties. I tried not to get excit­ed until I was real­ly sure that I was con­ceiv­ing. It was my way of pro­tect­ing myself. I know myself well enough  I don’t deal with dis­ap­point­ments well. Chris was excit­ed, but I tem­pered my expec­ta­tions.

I bought 3 preg­nan­cy test kits. The first two were a bit blur­ry, but the third was was clear as day. I had a blood test too, and it was pos­i­tive! I was beside myself — I’m hav­ing a baby! We’re hav­ing a baby! When I was preg­nant with my first born, peo­ple would tell me it was a girl. I just knew things, I knew my baby was going to be a boy. In fact, I named him Seth the moment I knew I was with child. No one could dis­suade me oth­er­wise. So Seth came to be, and of course he was a boy.

JJ

We named her before she was even con­ceived. I guess we were hope­ful. Some would say it was jinx­ing it, but we were over the moon. I just knew that JJ is a girl. We want­ed a girl, heck, every­one want­ed a girl. I knew deep down she was a she. So I final­ly allowed myself to be excit­ed! I want­ed to shout it to the world that I was preg­nant! I start­ed watch­ing baby videos. In true Vir­go fash­ion, I researched — what to eat, what not to eat, what to do, what not to do.

Morn­ing sick­ness and fatigue didn’t show, I glowed! Every­one around me noticed, and deep down, I final­ly, felt blessed and con­tent­ed, like every­thing was right in the world for once.

I had to remem­ber how it was like being preg­nant. Sud­den­ly, I was a pro­po­nent of healthy liv­ing. My friends had a good laugh — it was almost com­i­cal that I would eschew drink­ing. Kegfests and all drink­ing invites were halt­ed. No more chill out Thurs­days. Avo­ca­dos were my new best friends. I crave them! I could eat them all day. Toma­toes too! I love toma­toes! JJ loved them, I didn’t throw up when I ate them.

I missed Chris. He was abroad and delayed in com­ing back to me. I was needy, moody, and mushy, I total­ly felt not myself. Kudos to him for his patience in deal­ing with Jen­zil­la, because I’d total­ly hate me at that stage.

Miscarriage

I was sleep­ing when it hap­pened. I woke up cov­ered in blood. I had cramps days before that. The doc­tor said it was noth­ing, it was the uterus adjust­ing and mak­ing way for JJ.

I rushed to the ER. I sent a fran­tic mes­sage to Chris. I lost JJ.

It was pain I nev­er felt before. Not phys­i­cal pain. I’ve read about women los­ing their babies. I rec­og­nize the pain, but was not real­ly empath­ic. Now I know. No one would ever describe me as weak. I hate show­ing my feel­ings, wear­ing my heart on the sleeve. I know I’m strong, but nobody could have pre­pared me for this.

It’s a dif­fer­ent kind of pain, the kind that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. The first night I lost her, I spend it curled up cry­ing until I fell asleep. I had no one to share it. It could prob­a­bly be dif­fer­ent if Chris was here. Sure, every­one was dis­traught, but they didn’t know how it real­ly felt.

My first instinct was to dull the pain — drink until I feel numb. But I didn’t want to drink. I still feel preg­nant! JJ didn’t like alco­hol. The day I start­ed leak­ing milk, I just want­ed some­one to stab me and be done with it. I go out, present a brave front, but to some­one who looks clos­er, my eyes betray me. They say there are four kinds of peo­ple who tell the truth — kids, the drunk, any­one who is pissed off, and peo­ple who are in love. They left out emp­ty.

The two lines didn’t last for­ev­er. But there were two lines.

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