I am being rotten-bad at NaComLeavMo. I can’t think what to say to pregnant people. I can’t think what to say to people who are not pregnant. I can’t think what to say to bloggers who aren’t at a family-building stage of their life. I can’t think what to say to those who already have the family they want. Most of all, I can’t think what to say to anyone new, because no doubt they’ll follow me back here. I f I say ‘Hello! So happy for you! I’m having a miscarriage!’ it’s, well, it’s a bit of a bloody downer, really, and rather a mean thing to do to anyone who’s not having a good time themselves/ is finally having a good time. If I don’t say anything, they meander innocently over here and I, of course, have primed the door of this blog with a large overhead bucket of ice-cold water. Greetings. Expecting more jollity, were you? Bwahahahah.
H and I went for a long walk yesterday. I hadn’t really been bleeding much at all, and what with the lurking indoors we were both going slightly mouldy, so what the hell. We had meant to eat lunch out, but I found I couldn’t really face that bit. I feel like a broken packing-case. Broken packing-cases do not sit in coffee-shops reading the papers. They are too splintery. Anyway. We ended up walking through the local cemetery. There’s a cemetery near the hospital as well, and on Tuesday H and I walked through that. Because they are peaceful, and rather beautiful, and most importantly deserted. And people are allowed to be sad in them.
My lower back keeps hurting and hurting. And I haven’t felt sick for a few days now. But I still haven’t been able to bring myself to have a cup of coffee or eat any of the brie H brought home. It seems like a betrayal.
Oh, and my breasts still hurt. Idiots.