It's been a sad couple of days.
The night before last, after a somewhat disappointing weekend business-wise, we just needed to get out of the house. So, despite quickly-waning available funds and business to replace such extravagant outings, we decided to head into Woodstock for dinner. I should preface this with that I had been a bit down that day, just blue for no real reason, let's blame the pregnancy hormones, which isn't anyone's fault but happens to bother some, although it frankly cannot be considered a news flash to anyone here that I can be moody at times. Anyway. Somehow during the course of dinner the Cap'n and I started to say increasingly acidic things to each other and it ended up being a "you make me feel ____" sort of conversation. And I started crying. And god, I LOATHE public crying. But the tears wouldn't, couldn't stop, even when I really wanted them to, they kept coming all night, all through dinner, even after we returned home to sleep in separate rooms, so that I woke up the next morning all puffy and drained. I do believe it must have been the hormones.
So, the next day we pretended all was well, and with only a minor speed bump in transit, had a really nice day touring one of the Vanderbilt mansions. A pleasant diversion! Good architecture and lavish furnishings really can put one in a better mood.
Then I returned home to an email from a college friend, a former roommate of mine whose wife was just a couple of weeks behind me in her pregnancy. The subject line: "A sad update..." made my heart skip a beat. They lost their baby at 18 weeks, a little boy. Something about problems with the placenta and the fluid. I can only assume that they had to go through a delivery and everything. I am just sick about it. They've had more than their fair share lately with disease and death and it's just not fair. I don't know how you recover from something like that. I can't imagine it. Something about getting past the 12th week makes you feel like the pregnancy is iron-clad or something, and this was a painful reminder that nothing is guaranteed, not ever, and that I shouldn't take this baby's progress for granted. Every kick and swish since then has been an anticipated affirmation.