I have little melt-downs about once a day, but it's getting better. I need to stay away from "Teen Mom" and "16 and Pregnant" reruns during my recovery from the hysterectomy. Those shows in no way, shape, or form contribute anything positive to my recovery. In fact, they do nothing more than contribute to my pity party. They are the downfall of society in general, but I digress. Sometimes I don't need provocation to cry. I just cry.
Last summer, when we were going to adopt the baby (that was not to meant to be ours) we spent a good amount of time on names, of course. Well, I did. I would throw them out by the dozen to my husband, who primarily hated all of them. We had a few that we thought were "meh" but we finally settled on one. It was indeed a process. The baby had Mexican parents, but we didn't choose a name based on ethnicity. We chose a name that was sweet, cheerful, and not common. It was a nice name, not one of those weird, rare, attention-getting names, nor was it trendy. It was not an ethnic name, just a decent name that we were quite confident she would not share with many peers, especially not with peers of Mexican decent.
Imagine my shock when, upon having our receipt checked exiting Sam's last summer, I saw the name tag of this beautiful Hispanic girl in her teens with the same name we were going to give our baby girl. Didn't we just choose this name? We got a good laugh at the time. Since then, though, since the whole thing fell apart, seeing her has incited some pretty intense emotion. I flash back to the first time we saw this girl, how strange it all was! How coincidental! Would our baby be pretty like this girl? Did her friends think her name was fitting or odd? Did she like her name?
I've seen her several times since the bad news in September. Now it's the "it wasn't meant to be" that I deal with, that I keep having to deal with. The anger. The emptiness. The bitterness. She's so innocent in all this. I see her about every other time we go to Sam' Club, politely doing her job, making sure we weren't unloading any unpaid for electronics or what have you. She has no idea. Her name. No idea. I tear up, breathe, and move on. It's brief, over before we unload the cart.
I saw her yesterday. I don't look for her when we go. We only go about twice a month. I'm not 3 weeks post op yet, so outings are still brief and a bit uncomfortable, but very much anticipated. We were headed towards that area between the bakery and the gourmet cheeses and the rotisserie chickens. And there she was, heading towards the back of the store. Probably for a break. It doesn't matter. I see her and it all floods back. This girl really has no idea.
Insert tearful breakdown here. Look at the bread. Act like you care about the bread. Let's not freak out the customers. What ingredients does this loaf have? No one sees you cry. GET IT TOGETHER! Why does gluten have to be in everything? You are pretending to shop for bread that you don't eat until you can regain control of yourself. Your husband wonders why you are looking at bread. You ask him "Did you see her?" and he instantly knows why the bread has become important. Breathe. Look at the bread. Pretend to care about the bread. FOCUS. Pray for some peace in the moment. Go get the rest of your groceries. Move on.
And get out before her break is over and she checks your receipt.