Random thoughts

The other day, I was driving down the road on my way to work and I thought... something.
And then I thought, well that was random. But rather profound.... I shall post it on my blog.
But I forgot what that thought was.

Peter cleaned the house for me today. Round of applause to my awesome husband. I left pleading that maybe a few dishes would be done. So when I got home and everything but the laundry was done... oh happy sigh of relief.
One of my servers has been coming in sick for a week... coughing all over the place, whining about how sick she is, not doing her job very well, etc. I have contracted said cold. A good portion of my staff has contracted said cold. Tonight there was me, four servers, a busser, and three cooks. me, two of the servers, and the busser were sick. And the shift still went better than the last one I worked with said server... significantly better.
In the last week, I've had offers for surrogacy and kidnapping in my favor. Flattering and awkward all at the same time.
Hopefully, I will have a finished project post soon. I've been working on what has become a doosy of a project. But I think I should be done soon.
But I guess this babbling is not what is really weighing on my mind. What is weighing tonight is just another conversation of how other people react to hearing you've suffered the horrors of infant loss.

Sunday was another big... milestone for me and this monkey on my back called grief. After over a month of avoiding talking to two specific sets of regulars that knew I was pregnant, I was tricked into chatting with one of the couples. I say tricked because their adorable baby started blowing kisses at me and who can resist playing with a cute that is baby blowing kisses. After a couple moments, the woman says, "OH! did you have a boy or a girl?" Cue Lia's awkwardness. "Um... It was a girl..."
I return to playing with aforementioned adorable child. Then the man says, "So how old is your little girl now?"
Heavy sigh with a realization that they have no idea what has happened. "She would have been three months old this last week." I don't let them stutter for too long on "would have been" before explaining that I ended up pre-eclamptic and delivered at 25 weeks so she was only with us for 36 hours.

I realized long ago that I am fine talking to people about this who know the end of the story. The people who heard about Carter via phone, email, facebook, whatever. I can handle chatting amicably about my child in the past tense. I hate that I can do that. But I can. But I still can't explain it all to people who don't know the end result.
And this is why: To explain the turn of events that created this whole mess is a fairly personal story involving doctors and science and the most extreme emotions I have ever encountered in my short life.

So, a person who knows nothing about me except my name, where I work and that they saw me pregnant, didn't see me for a while and now sees me NOT pregnant asks, "How is the baby?" They aren't asking for TLC's baby story. They want to make amicable small talk parent to parent about how magical and wonderful and tremendous being a new parent is. They want to hear about her milestones, her first smile, whether she is sleeping through the night. You ask about people's kids to see them light up, talk excitedly, etc.
Not to see them turn ashen gray, their expressions fall as they explain a series of events that most wouldn't feel comfortable about explaining to their closest friends. Oh, my baby? She died. But, since I was supposed to be pregnant until a week ago and she would have been three months old last week, we knew it was going to be a difficult road. Oh yep... premature labor... yep... well, yes, it was a very complicated pregnancy. Nope, not sure we will be trying again, let alone be successful. Oh yes, you experienced the NICU too. Yes, amazing what science can do... but sometimes its just not enough.

And suddenly a near stranger who was just casually asking how your child was, the same way we ask people "how are you?" at the beginning of a conversation has a peek through a dark cloudy window into what your world is. The conversation goes from happy parent to parent babbling to the awkward, "We're so sorry for your loss."
But here is the truly important part of this whole thing... We can talk about this horrible thing that has occurred. In fact, many "lessons on dealing with other people's grief" (for lack of a better terminology) tell you about how you shouldn't avoid mentioning names, or dates or memories. And I agree. The thought behind this is that, I never stop thinking about it, so mentioning it, is not going to suddenly remind me and make me sad. This is why I can chat with people who know the ending.
Why can't I chat with people who don't know the ending? Well, its simple. At the end of me telling you this horrible tragedy in my life, you will be left stuttering over your pizza. You will feel like a jerk for bringing up the subject. You will have no better words than "I'm so sorry." You will suddenly know more about me than you ever imagined to. You will regret the casual conversation that turned awkward because neither of us could get past, "Oh my baby died," "Oh, I'm sorry."
And me?

I will feel exactly the same.