I've been feeling pretty good the last few days. I'm starting to get hopeful about trying again, even though I still am waiting for my period to return. There's pumpkin flavored stuff out again, which makes me happy. My house feels nice and cool again. I still miss Charlotte, but life was starting to feel pretty OK.
Then I got, metaphorically, punched in the face when I got home from school today. This stealth fist took the form of an innocuous looking bright green envelope in my mailbox. Baby shower invitation.
This in and of itself is bad enough. But this is for my shadow. The shadow of what should be.
When I was 17 weeks pregnant, I got an email from this girl with her first ultrasound picture. She was 11 weeks. I remember thinking, very distinctly, that she was brave for announcing herself so early. Eleven weeks is early to me, having had my first miscarriage at 13. I emailed her back and told her that we were expecting our second child, and that I was 17 weeks pregnant. She was of course excited for me.
Fast forward six weeks. It's two weeks after Charlotte died, and I go on my facebook account. There is the facebook announcement from the same girl who is now, as I was then, 17 weeks. I have since lost my daughter, and here she is exactly where I was the last time I heard from her. Tailspin.
Two weeks ago she announced that her big ultrasound went great and she's having a little boy.
In many ways, I see this girl and her pregnancy as the ghost of what I should have had.
The kicker? The shower is the day before my birthday.
I haven't decided if I'll go or not.