Due

Today is my original estimated due date. With Westley, my water broke on my due date; it's possible that, if things had gone differently, I would be in labor now.

Somewhere in the middle of summer, my body and my mind both started feeling reasonably recovered from the whole miscarriage ordeal. And then it hit me that I didn't remember my due date. When was I due? (Which is really, How pregnant am I supposed to be right now?) It was suddenly dreadfully important that I know.

So I would never forget again.

I remembered the date of my last period easily: Christmas Eve, 2010. (I probably conceived on my birthday.) The online due date calculator spat out Friday, September 30, 2011. I promptly marked the date on the calendar.

And now it's here.

Last night I wrote a thank-you note to someone who helped me on my way—though of course I wrote it more for myself than for her. Afterwards, I told Rob, "I honestly don't care any more. I don't care if I ever get pregnant again."

He was a bit shocked. But it's the truth. (Until I change my mind.)

I had some ideas about how I would feel today, but I tried not to have any expectations. I decided to wear the same shirt, camisole, and shoes I was wearing that Sunday in the Emergency Room when the teenager they just made an OB sent me home to miscarry. I would have worn the skirt also, but jeans seemed better for my work day at Westley's preschool. Besides, doing head-to-toe "miscarriage chic" on your due date feels somehow backward. But I suppose I dressed to feel sad.

I definitely feel sad. It's not the slow, paralyzing sadness that I'm used to with depression. It's sharper, more likely to cause impatience and look like anger. I guess because anger feels empowered. Depression is more feeble.

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