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London in Review

An apologetic warning and a gentle plea for forgiveness: This will probably be long. Sorry.

Now that I’m caught up on my reading and commenting, and the worst of this cold has finally lifted, I have the time and energy to blog about our London adventure. Except, as I’ve been there so many times now, it doesn’t much feel like an adventure anymore. Just like going home, as I’ve mentioned before.

In summary: I ate too much. I ate too much junk. I drank too many caffeinated drinks. I slept too little. I walked, played, and shopped until I dropped. I carried my 26 lb toddler on my hip nearly 50% of every day. I forgot to pray often enough. I brought “cute” shoes instead of “walking” shoes and my feet hurt all day long. I spent too much money. I didn’t nap. I didn’t rest. I didn’t stop going. In other words, I did very few things that were good for my fertility.

In fact, there were multiple times while we were away, that I thought to myself, There is no way I could have done this if I’d been 32 weeks pregnant. Or 6 or 10 or 14 weeks pregnant, if one of these most recent cycles had worked for us. I would have pushed myself too hard. Even if I tried not to, I still would have. I know no other way when on vacation. And I cannot imagine that it would have been very good for any Baby in Progress. Perhaps, somewhere in here, there is a small blessing in disguise. Ha…if only I really believed that.

But…I digress. A few more details about our holiday:

  • We visited many of the major sights, not because I wanted to but because my Honey (who has never been to London) needed to see them: Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, London Eye, Tower of London, Tower Bridge, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, and more.
  • I had High Tea by myself at the Berkley, where they style their cakes and pastries after the latest fashion trends. Delicious and fun!
  • We went on two Harry Potter-themed guided walking tours, which was perhaps one of my favorite parts of the trip.
  • I discovered Ben’s Cookies, which has the best cookies I have ever tasted in my life. Seriously. Enormous, soft, thick, chewy…I wish I could have brought a lifetime supply home with me.
  • During one of our two (three?) visits to Harrods, we happened to stumble upon a book signing party for Roger Moore, who once played the role of James Bond.
  • We hired a nanny for a day so that my daughter could have a day of rest while the three of us adults took a day trip to Windsor and Eton.
  • I enjoyed pineapple frozen yogurt and a giant muffin at Muffinski’s in Covent Garden, just like I did on my first visit to London and every visit thereafter.
  • We only had serious rain during part of one day. The rest of the time, skies were clear and we were…cold. So glad I had the foresight to pack a thick jacket, hat, and gloves!
  • We went to a pub for fish and chips and I ordered a hard cider, the first sip of alcohol I’ve had in months.
  • I slipped away for a couple hours to do a little shopping on my own and to enjoy a coffee while sitting in Green Park. I love getting to explore the city alone, just like in the good ol’ days!
  • I fell in love with Kensington Gardens all over again. My favorite park. Truly.
  • While visiting St. Paul’s Cathedral, I paid 30 pence to light a candle for our beloved Teddy Graham. I wish I would have thought to light one for each of your lost babies as well. I’m sorry. But they were all in my heart.
  • During our last evening in London, my husband stayed with our daughter, while my mom and I went for High Tea at Fortnum & Mason (a very nice department store, the Queen’s official grocer, and what I would say is a scaled-down version of Harrods…but I think I like it even better). Afterwards, we walked the Mall (cold but beautiful with the Palace all lit up) and then went to Novello Theatre to see Mamma Mia! on stage. So. Much. Fun. And perhaps my favorite night out.

There is also one other thing I did while in London that I have never done before: go shopping at baby stores. Lots of them. I’m trying to be a good sister (yes, I’m failing — I already know), and wanted to get something special for her baby. So I bought this:

The onesie on the left and the jar of hand cream (for my sis, not her baby), I will send to her just as a little “thinking of you” gift this week. The elephant jammies and rabbit rattle I will save for her baby shower this winter.

And for the day the baby arrives, I bought this:

My sis does not know what she is having and does not plan to find out until Baby is here. So I bought a boy outfit and a girl outfit and a gender-neutral musical star/rabbit. The outfit that goes unused will either be given as a gift to someone else or will be saved, in hopes that we may one day have a baby to fill it.

Shopping for these items were hard, all the harder because I’m still working through the feelings of resentment, hurt, anger, and jealousy that I feel when it comes to my sister, but it strengthened me too. In the end, I think perhaps I will one day look back at it and realize that’s when accepting my sister’s pregnancy began to get easier. If that makes any sense.

And while shopping, I could not help but buy these. For us. Or rather, for our baby. Our next baby.

And no, this isn’t some “I’m pregnant!” announcement in disguise. No. I had no business buying these things. Certainly, I had no business spending the sort of money that I did on a baby that hasn’t yet even been conceived. But I fell in love with them. And even more, I wanted some tangible proof of my hope. Of my faith. Because I do believe, I do know it’s possible at least, that I will have another child. I don’t know when. But I think it can, and probably will, happen. And now whenever I need to, I can look at and hold these few precious baby items, reminding myself that not all hope is lost.

So our trip to London was a success. A beautiful success. With the exception of one minor snafu the day after our arrival and missing our connection coming home because of mechanical problems with the plane, it went off without a hitch. Nearly perfect. Perhaps the closest thing to perfect I have experienced when going on holiday. Which I needed. I so needed that.

The hardest part in coming back is…coming back. Returning to the reality of our situation. While across the Pond, I felt thoroughly removed from our problems. I pondered them infrequently. I was happy. I felt light and free and unburdened. The pain of infertility and the grief of a miscarriage didn’t weigh me down for once. Instead, they were more like a small souvenir in my back pocket. Until our final day, that is. Then I broke down and cried because I suddenly realized it was all coming to an end and I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want to be faced with all of this again. I still don’t. I wish I could pretend that we’re still on holiday and go on feeling at ease with my lot in life for the rest of my life.

But alas, here I am. I am home. I am infertile. I am waiting. And I have no idea what the future holds. Oh, and I hate it.

And on that note, I’ll leave you with a few too many photos for your enjoyment. These are the best shots that don’t include my family (because, you know, I’m trying to pretend this blog is anonymous):

You all know what this is…and that blue sky is real, folks!

The London Eye, in all it’s Glory

Buckingham Palace

My High Tea at the Berkley…all inspired by the fashions of Spring/Summer 2012.

All things great existed inside this muffin from Muffinski’s. The only way it could have been better is if it had the amazing power to knock me up!

These are the beautiful boys who attend Eton College (where Prince William and Harry were educated). My husband found it “creepy” that I took photos of these young men, but really I’m just fascinated by the lifestyle. I once had naive hopes of marrying a Brit and sending our son(s) here. Now I look at my daughter and wonder if I would ever be able to send my child away for months at a time.

I love visiting Windsor Castle!

For all you Harry Potter fans out there…

My two companions while enjoying my “me” time at Green Park

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Updates

There’s a few things I’ve been wanting to update all my bloggie friends on. Let’s do it with bullet points:

  • Metformin: I’m still on it, 1000mg/day, and I’m happy to report I have felt no side effects whatsoever. Like, absolutely none. I also do not know that I have seen any improvements in my menstrual cycles, but I will continue with it (possibly increasing the dosage) for a few more months in hopes that it just may take a while to really go to work.
  • My BBT: Ever since determining that it was stress causing such erratic shifts in my temp, I have implemented down-time (10-30 minutes) into my daily schedule, morning, afternoon, and right before bed. And it seems to be helping! While still not completely stable, my temp is no longer having the low dives and high spikes every damn day. I haven’t seen it go above 97.6 in over a week! And maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I like to think this is actually something over which I had a teensy tiny bit of control.
  • My sis: Yesterday, I logged onto Facebook after breakfast to see a pregnancy announcement from my sister, her husband, AND her mom. Oh joy. I was ill-prepared and it made me cranky and weepy all morning. I had really thought my sis might warn me before she did that. I was wrong.
  • My cycle:  I had thought I might get a positive OPK today, but I was wrong about that too. It’s CD20 and I’m still waiting and growing increasingly impatient and anxious. The second OPK line does seem to be getting darker and I am now seeing EWCM and feeling the pressure and tenderness in my lower abdomen (completely normal for me) that indicates ovulation, so I think we’re close. I hope. But I’m also afraid of hope, so I’m trying to prepare myself for the possibility that it might not happen at all. And I’m simultaneously fearing that it will happen and it’s so late in my cycle, I’ll inevitably miscarry again. It’s kind of a catch-22 at this point. Why couldn’t I just have ovulated on day 14 like last time?! (But, of course, we know how well that cycle ended.)

So that’s what’s new (or not) with me in TTC-land. I’m hoping I have some actual news to report soon! And I’m not talking about a BFP. All I really want in this very moment is a positive test of a different kind. But I’m no good at waiting. No good at all.

Letting Go and Holding On

I have already shared this quote but I think it’s worth repeating:

“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”  — Havelock Ellis

Couldn’t this be understood in so many ways?  It could be speaking to each of us about this God-awful road we are all marching down — about the place that faith and hope have in all of it. If you have faith, sometimes you have to let things go. You have to believe God or some other higher power will take care of it all. It’s out of your control. And yet, you have to hold on too. You have to keep hoping. If you give up hope, you give up everything, don’t you?

Or it could mean knowing when to keep fighting, to keep forging ahead, to keep believing in the dream we all covet…that little bundle of joy. But then, isn’t there a time when we might need to move on, either to the next treatment or to a new way of living, perhaps without the child we have been praying for? (Is this sort of “letting go” and moving on even possible? I don’t know that it ever could be for me.)  It’s a fine, careful balance indeed.

But this quote also means something else to me. It’s about my relationship with my sister. I will not be letting go of her anytime soon. I know that now, after my conversation with her yesterday. It went as good as I could have hoped for. I think we both hung up feeling like we each had our turn to say what we wanted, that we’d been heard, and that there is still a chance to heal things between us.

As sams at what a day for a daydream suggested, I had a list (a long list, I might add) of talking points for our discussion. And yet, in the end, most of it went unsaid. Some of it, I felt, was petty, some of it water under the bridge, some of it things I needed to let go, some of it too hard to bring up. But I said what I needed to, I think. I feel satisfied.

Mostly, I talked about my pain (thanks, Daryl, for that suggestion) — about how much infertility and miscarriage hurt, about how I am never free from the ache and grief they have both caused me. I wanted her to know that there is nothing she can say or do that can make it better, but that there are things that can make it worse. I did tell her I felt abandoned in the days after my miscarriage. That it hurt me so deeply a part of me had been trying to punish her for it all these months. That I just need her to be more sensitive and gentle with my heart. And I apologized for being so hard on her, for having such high expectations of her, for holding things against her when I have always known that her intentions were nothing but good.

And she thanked me for the gift I sent and told me how much it hurt to hear that I couldn’t be happy for her (which, I will tell you now, I never said…but it’s all about perspective and interpretation, isn’t it?) and she said that she feels like she’s in such a tough place because she doesn’t know what to say to me anymore. She doesn’t want to be insensitive, but she also doesn’t want to hide her happiness. She doesn’t want to keep bringing up what I’m going through because she thinks that’s cruel, but she doesn’t want me to think that by not talking about, she doesn’t care. Both valid points, and so I explained to her my expectations on both accounts. One thing she did not say was “I’m sorry.” Not once. I did, she didn’t, but I guess that is another thing I will have to let go. I had hoped for an apology for her lack of support when I lost Teddy Graham, and for not handling these last few weeks very well, but we hardly talked about those things and she did not offer anything of the sort. That’s something I just have to accept, I guess. If there is one thing I have learned about my sister in the last few months, it is that she is rarely wrong. She is the one who is always the victim. The one who is always owed the apology. The one who has been hurt so deeply. It is never the other way around.

We talked about her pregnancy, too, and about my infertility and fear for what is around the corner, and we both agreed to just be kinder to each other. More supportive. And to give one another the benefit of the doubt going forward. After all, neither one of us means to do any harm. It was not a perfect conversation — I’m realizing as I type this how much I failed to say that I probably should have — but it was successful. We cleared the air (mostly) and I felt better afterwards. I think she did, too.

And so we are holding on. We’re still trying to figure this sister thing out, but we do need each other. And so, if I want this relationship to flourish, I will have to let go of the anger, the pain she has inflicted, the things she has said and done or failed to say or do. I will have to pick my battles and let go of the small stuff, everything that doesn’t matter, so it doesn’t fracture what we have. I will have to forgive. It’s a process and it will take time and I’m still learning how to do it…but I do believe it can be done.

A carefully orchestrated dance between letting go and holding on…it really is a fine art, isn’t it? One I will probably be practicing for the rest of my life.

The Two-Week Wait

Things look promising.

As most of you know from my post on Monday, I got a positive ovulation test on CD14. The four days since then, my BBT has been over 98.0 (before that it was mostly 97.2-97.6). Also, the OPKs have gone back to being completely negative, my cervix has dropped, and now I have creamy-ish CM. So far, so good, I would say.

Which I think makes it official. I’m smack-dab in the middle of the 2WW. My first since starting this blog. And please God, let it be my last.

Is that being too optimistic? I don’t know.

Here’s what I do know:

  • My Honey and I had sexy time the two days before ovulation and the day of. I hope that’s enough.
  • Every time that I have ovulated while TTC (those two measly times in the last two-and-a-half years), I have conceived, even though it was on CD19 in 2010 and CD 22 earlier this year.

That’s not much to go on, but it’s enough to give me hope. And so that’s what I do…all day long, I hope, I pray, and I analyze every possible little symptom or clue my body alludes to. It’s too early, of course — anything I feel now is probably an unpredictable fluke — but I can’t help myself.

So in this moment, I’m feeling more positive and hopeful than I have in so long, since my miscarriage I think. It’s a (slightly terrifying) relief to finally be trying again. And to be at a point where we’ve actually got a shot at a miracle. (Even though ovulating on CD14 feels like a small miracle of its own.)

So for today, I will try not to worry, try to have faith, and try to just enjoy the possibilities. I’m feeling like I can handle anything right now. Even my sister. We have a phone date scheduled for this afternoon to talk our hearts out.

I’m so freaking scared!

I’m a Good Sister.

Well, you can’t tell from my last post, but I’m a good sister.

At least, I think I am. Today.

Though I was still hurting from her news and the way in which she’d told me, I bought my sis this while we were in Idaho:

I know it’s hard to tell from the photos, but it’s a “piggy” bank shaped liked a teddy bear. Not so long ago (before she ever got pregnant), my sister mentioned how she wants to do the nursery in teddy bears. Just like we did for Cupcake. So I thought this was the perfect thing. (But please don’t even get me started on how she’ll be using the same middle name as Cupcake if she has a daughter…or how she’ll quite possibly be “stealing” the boy name I have had picked out for years if she has a son.)

For days, I have been going back and forth on whether I should actually send it to her. I don’t want her to think it’s some sort of apology. After talking to my mama and my Honey, and after reading every supportive comment that you all have left on previous posts, I don’t really think I’ve done anything wrong. And I fear that she’ll think this gift is an admission that I have. But then I realized I was being silly and petty. Who cares what she thinks? I know why I’m sending it. And it’s not an apology, but a truce. A peace offering.

So despite my sister’s e-mail to me over the weekend, I put it in the mail earlier this week.

Guys, I am trying. I’m trying so damn hard.

So yes, I think that makes me a good sister. Come on…I dare you to tell me I’m not.

Letter to My Sister

It’s no secret that my sister and I are in a weird place right now. Our relationship seems to be on a downward spiral and if I could pick out where it all started to go wrong, I would say it was right around the time I lost Teddy Graham. It’s a story I still want to tell, but I’ll save it for another day. Sis’s latest big news has turned out to be only one more bump in the road. Since she told me she is pregnant, we’ve sent a few e-mails back and forth. In one of them, I tried very hard to make an effort and even asked about morning sickness and doctor appointments. And in the next, I was brutal and blunt in my wording because she had accused me of causing her too much pain. But no matter what we have said, all of our e-mails have lacked the usual friendly, silly rapport that we have developed in the last few months. You wouldn’t know we are sisters by reading them.

Many of you have mentioned that it may be best to take some time off right now — to just give each other space. I know you are probably right. Yesterday, I came across this quote completely by accident:

“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”  — Havelock Ellis

I think that pretty much says it all and yet… Yet. I have never been good at letting go. Friendships and first loves have continued until all life was drained out of them because I just couldn’t let them go. I want a sister-break (maybe?), but I also fear it. I’m afraid that if we take some time apart, we may never find each other again. And, as of right now, she’s all I’ve got when it comes to sisters.

Recently, Elizabeth over at Bébé Suisse and then Theresa at Journey to the Finish Line suggested that I send my sister an e-mail to explain where I’m coming from and to smooth things over. This is something I’ve been wanting to do ever since I felt let down and utterly abandoned by her during the dark days of my miscarriage in April — well, smooth things over or just puke out all my hurt feelings and maybe make her hurt a little too.  But right now, writing a real, heartfelt letter is not something I trust myself to do, for fear that I may say something I’ll regret and thus cause irreparable damage to our relationship (if it hasn’t been done already).

Instead, I have chosen to write a letter to my sis, not for her but for me, and I want to share it with all of you. Be forewarned: this will be a long one and it won’t be pretty. Please don’t judge me for what I say here. This is my chance to say all the ugly things in my head, so that hopefully I will never be tempted to say them aloud. I have no intention of ever sending this and, if I do (and that is one gigantic IF!), it will be a much-condensed version that I have carefully edited.

And so, here we go…

 

Dear Sis,

This is not easy to write. Nothing in my life is easy right now, but especially this. Navigating a relationship that is so new to me, with nothing to use as a compass, while simultaneously grieving the loss of a child, fearing that the only dream I have right now may never come true, AND having to muster up some joy over your special blessing…it’s not easy. Nor is it fair, and I hate it.

And yes, sometimes I hate you.

I hate you because you have made everything hard in my life harder this year. My short pregnancy was filled with even more anxiety because you would chastise me for my “unfounded” worry. And the loss of my pregnancy, and my baby, was even more painful because you were not there when I needed you. And trying again has been made more difficult because you’re pregnant and you lack sensitivity towards the fact that I’m not. For all of this, I feel contempt, resentment, anger, envy, and sorrow. I hate you and yet, at the same time, I am afraid I am losing you. And for something that doesn’t even feel like it’s my fault.

I am not happy with the way our last phone conversation ended, when you told me you were pregnant. I think you were mad and shutting down on me as we hung up, and I can’t fathom why. Because I didn’t give you the happy response you hoped for? Because I did not jump for joy and celebrate with balloons and streamers? Because a simple “congratulations” simply wasn’t enough? Really, I have to wonder, what the hell did you expect??? I suppose, in an ideal world, I would have done so much more. I would have squealed with glee. I would have cried happy tears. I would have been the sister you wanted. But this world is not ideal. Not for me. I just lost a baby. And I don’t know that I’ll ever have another one. And I hurt. While you can you go about your day without worry about creating a family or carrying a baby to term, I cannot. The weight of it crushes me with every breath. And so if you think that I should be nothing but happy for you, if you think I should celebrate your great fertile success, if you think that you deserve my joy and I owe you selfless delight, then we have a problem.

Because while I am trying to be happy for you, I cannot ignore the ache that I carry with me every where I go. Your pregnancy exacerbates the ache, but I do not blame you for that. I do not blame you for wanting a child or for conceiving so quickly. Your fertility is no more your fault than my infertility is mine. But I do think you have handled all of this so wrong.

Let’s not talk about what went so badly when I miscarried in April. Let’s not discuss how you promised that, with God, you would carry me through the darkness, just like in that poem “Footprints in the Sand.” And I won’t tell you how, instead, you left me stranded on a deserted island, alone with my grief. How the sister-friend whom I thought I could turn to turned out to be the only one I could not.

No, instead let’s talk about that phone call a couple weeks ago. I hated that phone call. That you somehow thought you were doing me a favor by calling me. That you got pissed when I told you it would have been easier to handle over e-mail. That I hung up feeling guilty for upsetting you. I had been expecting your news for some time. Anticipating it and dreading it at once. And in my head, I had a careful response planned out. It probably would have been a lot of what you wanted to hear, if you had allowed me to say it over e-mail. Instead, you blindsided me with a phone call that I had no control over and forced me to respond when I wasn’t ready. I don’t blame  you for getting pregnant, but I do blame you for the way in which you told me. For not respecting my own comfort level. For the perkiness, and absence of sympathy, in your tone. For lacking any sensitivity to how much it hurt me to hear. For failing to show me the same compassion and tenderness I have shown you through everything, all your dark secrets and deep pain, until now.

Do you know what I wish you would have done? Well, I wish you would have told me over e-mail, for one. Or, I wish you would have somehow reached through the phone and held my hand. I wish you would have made me feel loved and cared for and understood instead of like the worst sister ever. I wish you would have attempted to make all of this easier for me, rather than letting your anger show when it was nothing but hard.

And do you know what I wish you would have said? I wish you had said, “Cassie, I know this is hard for you and I’m so sorry. I know you just lost Teddy. I know you still miss him. And I know you are afraid that might be the last baby you ever have. I know I’m hurting you and you have every right to feel what you feel…I’m just sorry I’m the one inflicting the pain…and I will be here every step of the way, if you’ll let me.” Or something like that. And I wish you would have said it gently, tenderly, sweetly, with hope and remorse and understanding.

My cousin Faith* struggled for ten years to conceive. And do you know what her sister did when she (her sister) learned she was expecting twins? She cried. She was so happy to have two babies on the way, but she was so sad for Faith. So angry at the unfairness of the situation. She had such sorrow that her big sister, this wonderful woman who wanted to have children more than anything, could not have her same great fortune. She felt guilty that it was her and not Faith who was pregnant, and with twins no less. Of course, I do not expect that from you. I think a reaction like that probably only comes from having a relationship and history with your sister that spans many years, not just a few mere months. We say we love each other, but do we? I’m convinced that, right now, it’s all an act…or at least an obligation. Because when you really love someone, you feel their pain. You ache with and for them. You hold them in your heart and lift them up when they are down. You are strong for them when they cannot be.

And  you have done none of this for me.

Maybe you think this is a two-way street. That I should celebrate with you while you mourn with me. But I’m sorry, I’ve got news for you: this road only goes one way. Pain trumps joy. Every time. Especially when it is your pain and someone else‘s joy. I reserve the right to be sad, to cry over your good news, any time I need to. In a recent e-mail you asked if you should still come visit me next week because you don’t want me to be sad all day long — “that wouldn’t be any fun,” you wrote. But, excuse me? Since when do you have jurisdiction over what I get to feel? Is there an expiration date on grief that I don’t know about?  Are you saying that I have to pretend to be happy if I want to spend any time with you?  Because I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve spent my whole life pretending to be someone and feel things that I’m not and I don’t. Sometimes I may be happy. I may laugh. I may forget. And sometimes, I won’t do any of those things no matter how hard I try. And that’s life.

Live with it. Or move on. It’s your choice.

How is it that it has come to this? That we have come to this impasse so early in our relationship? It seems unfair that this is our cross to bear already. One of the many unfairnesses of life, I suppose.

You have now decided that you won’t be coming to see me next weekend. That I have hurt you too much. I’m sorry, but I didn’t realize this was all about you. I also didn’t know that this is how sisters behave. That they run away when things get tough or too uncomfortable. That they aren’t expected to deal with their sister’s grief and pain if it infringes upon their own joy. That they need only be there when their sister falls neatly into their life circumstances. Believe me, since I lost our baby, there have been times where I have thought about walking away from you. Because of the pain you have inflicted upon me. Because frankly, my life was easier and I hurt less when I didn’t know you existed. We will always be sisters, but we don’t have to have a relationship. We are not so far in this thing that we can’t give in and give up. It’s not too late to turn back the hands of time.

But it is. In my heart, it is. Because in order to spare myself one sort of pain, I would cause another. In order to save my broken heart, I would sacrifice my soul. I am loyal. I am strong. I do not give up! Losing you would be just one more death in my life, one more loss — one more casualty of my infertility. I have already lost so much. And so I will fight. I will try. I may not ever be glad that you are pregnant. I may not always like you. Right now, I’m still not sure I have it in me to love you. You may hate me, or wish you had a different sister, or think I have done everything wrong. Our relationship will sometimes suffer. We may not always be friends. But I am okay with that. Because what sisters are? I know not a single pair of sisters who have never had their fair share of disagreements, hurt feelings, and unspoken jealousies. It is what it is and I will accept it. Because you are the only sister I have.

I think I’m in it for the long haul. If you are.

Always,

Cass

 

*Name has been changed

Drama

My sister was planning to come visit me next week. Was. As in, past tense.

Apparently, she has changed her mind because I have caused her too much pain in recent weeks and she “just can’t let go of that.”

Excuse me??? EXCUSE ME?! Who has caused who pain? You’re the pregnant one, sis! Get over yourself.

I have composed a letter to her — but I don’t think I’ll be sending this one. Instead, I’ll show it to you guys (be on the lookout for it!) and send her a slightly friendlier version…something along the lines of “Oh, I’m sorry I lost my baby right before you conceived yours and it has gotten in the way of your perfect life. Please forgive me and my heartache.”

Oh, sigh.

I really don’t need this drama right now.

I really don’t.