Last night, there were martinis and soft cheeses and cured meats.
Today – Southern eggs Benedict with brisket and Hollandaise sauce and bloody Marys, sushi and wings with blue cheese sauce and Pinot Grigio.
I’ve been asleep or, at least horizontal, for most of the day. I’ve taken Advil for the pain, per my doc’s suggestion and am bleeding lightly. Is this it, I wonder? Is it done? When will I know when I’ll start to look and feel normal again?
On Facebook, I unfollowed a few of my friends, even close ones, who have recently had kids. I just can’t handle seeing that right now. Yesterday, I ended up with a mom and her baby in a stroller in the elevator in my building. The baby smiled at me and stared. I was glad I had sunglasses on.
“It’s a good sign, hon,” my husband said.
“It means you will have your own baby soon. And it will be even cuter than that one.”
For the past few weeks, my husband has talked to what we call “the sac,” the thing that was growing inside of my body and then mysteriously stopped, before bed. Nothing crazy. Just a quick hello.
“Hi, sac. How was your day? Did you like the guacamole your mom had with Laura?”
Then he would put his head on my stomach as though listening for a response. He generally heard me digesting whatever I’d just eaten.
“We hope you stay with us. But if you don’t, that’s okay. We’ll get another sac.”
I hope it’s so easy next time. And more successful.