I can’t really put aside my mother’s comment that my miscarrages aren’t so bad as I ‘am used to it by now’. She’s right. That is why I can be calm and respond placidly when she says things like that. I am used to it. To disappointment. To grief. To physical pain. To being afraid and angry every time I get pregnant, to being bitter and resigned when the bleeding starts. I am used to the bad dreams I have for weeks and weeks each time I miscarry. I am used to the terrible anxiety that makes me snappish and difficult to live with after them. I am used to the grey, cold, dreariness that comes over me when I try to think of a life without children.
Why in God’s name does she think it acceptable or comforting in any way that her daughter has grown used to these things?