I didn’t check my e-mail until Thursday night. My inbox was overflowing with e-mails from friends, family, co-workers, and my boss. Everyone wanted to know what was going on. Most knew I was supposed to have been induced on Monday.
What to say?
To only say that yes, we had the baby, was technically true. But to not include the troubles we were going through seemed like a lie. At the same time, I wasn’t READY to talk about the ICN. To write about it. To explain it to anyone. And then to feel obligated to update everyone.
I didn’t want the sympathy. The stilted, but heartfelt sympathy. I didn’t want to put them in the uncomfortable situation of feeling like they had to reply, to say something … consoling or supportive.
Because really, what do you say to something like that?
I was on the most horrible emotional roller coaster, and it was rocket-fueled by post-partum hormones. I’d SEE an infant at a restaurant, in another car, and I’d tear up. I didn’t want to share that. I wanted to hide. To wrap blankets around my body like a cocoon to shelter my frazzled emotions until it was over and the monkey was home.
So the Hubbs and I talked it over and decided that it was best to not tell anyone until we were ready. So we sent out an e-mail with the barest of information: The Monkey’s full name, his weight, height, and a couple of pictures. We apologized for the delay, saying that things “were crazy” just then. A massive understatement.
The only people who got “real” updates were our parents, and two of our closest friends. The Hubbs would call both sets of parents each night to update them. I’d e-mail or IM our friends, who knew I just needed to vent a little. I couldn’t handle phone conversations. Everyone understood.
There was nothing to say.