Popover

This, at left, is the Saturday-afternoon cheese plate at the home of our friend-with-baby whom we visited over the weekend. Yum.

In four days, I'll be at my parents' house in Maryland, where we're making an overnight pit stop to say hi and get the boxes we've had shipped there, before picking up our cats at the friend's house where they've been living and heading back north on Saturday. I suppose the reality of our miscarriage will be more concrete when we're in the company of more family and friends who know about it, rather than here, where most people don't. At the moment--and this is probably in keeping with what I've been writing over the last couple days--it all feels kind of far away. I know we lost a baby, I know I bled and it hurt our hearts and dashed our hopes, but at the moment, I'm a little numb about it. It could be because, still, I'm in the midst (or maybe the end?) of a non-cycle alternate reality, where it's cd √-43, and so I'm not engaging in any of the ttc behaviors that have given a sort of order (if a disappointing one) to this school year. I'm just floating, waiting. Is it a 2ww, a 4ww? There's no telling. No drugs, no peeing on anything, no blood, just a lot of empty, as the 11 months during which we assumed we'd get me knocked up draw to a close.