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PKD

I have a friend who attempted to console me after my second miscarriage by sharing what he had found to be true. His wife had a couple of miscarriages before they had their daughter and my friend assured me that when he held his daughter for the first time he knew that she, and she alone, was the child for them.

"You'll discover that when you finally have a child all of the trouble and heartache will make sense, because it was somehow necessary to bring you to this child - the perfect one for you."

I smiled weakly at the time and hoped he was right.

Two years later when I was actually peering at Patrick's wet, angry, newborn-red face, I recalled his words and thought about what a fucking load of crap they were. I mean, I don't doubt that it was true for him, and it very well might be true for you, Mazel tov, but for me there was no great moment when all of the suffering felt worth it. Maybe because there was no connection between the two; it was just bad luck, bad luck, bad luck, bad luck - good luck! I didn't have all of the miscarriages as a necessary precursor to Pack. It just sucked, randomly and repeatedly, and then it didn't suck.

Seriously, I love Patrick more than the moon and the stars and the vast dark spaces where time sleeps. I love him and I love being his mother and when he burped half a second before kissing me on the lips this morning I was only slightly grossed out. But it would have been a whole lot more pleasant to just have the first baby we conceived. Or the third. I'll bet that third was quite a kid. Trying to mourn not having Patrick because we successfully had a Patrick prototype three years earlier... well that just involves a Philip K. Dick-like sci-fi sophistication that is beyond me.

Oh, hey, I like that. Good ol' P.K. Dick. Dick-like. Dick-ish. Feel free to use that if you find yourself in a similar situation. One in which some well-meaning person tries to tell you that miscarriages or years of infertility or both are somehow nullified by The One True Baby.

Do you see why this is an annoying and patronizing attitude to take about someone else's experiences?

Dick. Dicklike. Dickish.

Something like that.

- This has nothing to do with what I intended to write about. Ergo, I shall return later to write about nail polish that won't rub off.

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