Last weekend was my birthday.
My husband did his best to make it a good one. He asked if I wanted a party, but I can't remember the last time I wanted to have anything to do with a party, so I quickly said no to that. He then suggested getting away for the weekend. Getting away always sounds good to me, so I quickly agreed.
He got tickets for us to see the new musical by Steve Martin and Edie Brickell that was playing in San Diego. San Diego is perfect because it's away and also gorgeous.
The musical was good, the dinner before was lovely. The weather was perfect and it had all the making of a nice weekend.
There's always an except. My husband grew up in San Diego. His sisters still live there. His sisters mean well, but sometimes confuse me with what they think is appropriate.
Two examples from this weekend: The older sister asked me how everything was going with the baby. I gave my standard, non descript, vague answers. "So far, so good. I can hardly wait until November until he's here." It's all true, but about as much detail as I can bear to give most of the time. But that wasn't enough. She started asking questions, asking me direct comparisons to my first pregnancy. "Are you bigger now than last time? Is he moving more? They say that boys move more than girls, do you think that's true?" It took me a bit to come up with an answer. I just couldn't find words to express how this pregnancy is different from the pregnancy where my baby died. I just couldn't figure out how it seemed appropriate to ask someone to do that. Luckily, after fumbling around a bit (I think I said something like "Well, I think I'm bigger, because we didn't make it this far last time.") my husband jumped in and shut things down. "We try not to compare the two, because of what happened. We're just trying to be positive," he said. And luckily that was the end of that.
Then we had lunch with his other sister, who has a 3 year old. My daughter would be about 2.5 years old now, so the age is a bit tricky for me, but I do my best. This sister really wants to come to the hospital for the birth, and explained that she read on the hospital website that they don't allow kids, unless they are siblings of the baby being born. You'd think that would settle it, with hospital policy and all. But nope. She looked and me and suggested "You could say she's your daughter." Um, HUH? You are suggesting that FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE while I am giving birth to my baby (which is already going to be a stressful situation, given our history) that I lie to the hospital staff about having a daughter who is approximately the same age that my daugther would be? Do you hear yourself?
The sad part is, these things happened Sunday morning, so basically wiped away my good Saturday night.
My husband keeps reminding me that we don't have to see them again before we have the baby. But UGH!