Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I Hate Ya, Tomorrow
Because of her struggles and an earlier miscarriage, she spent the first trimester quite worried about the future of her pregnancy. I engaged in a typical amount of worrying about my own pregnancy, but was reassured by early ultrasounds and mounting pregnancy symptoms.
We abruptly switched places at the end of September, when she had a good OB appointment and an excellent ultrasound. I had two worrisome midwife appointments followed by a devastating sonogram. In the horrid weeks and months that followed, K has been a big part of my support system, sharing her miscarriage experience with me and keeping track of the nightmarish twists and turns of the molar pregnancy ride. She never brings up her pregnancy unless I do, and has been kind, concerned, and thoughtful in every way imaginable.
I have a harder time with the rest of our co-workers, the majority of whom seem to have forgotten entirely that I was pregnant, too, and that our pregnancies were so intertwined (at least in our minds). They will gush over her or make comments, thinking nothing of the effect the comments have on me. It's unrealistic to think that the world will stop because we lost our baby, and I still have so much joy for K, her husband, and their soon-to-be daughter, but it's still hard for me when I am so frequently reminded of what I'm missing.
Tomorrow is her shower. Coincidentally, tomorrow is one month to the day from my due date. I think tomorrow is going to suck.