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Yesterday was a bad day. I was irrational, evil, moody, and wanted to divorce Bobby. Not because he actually did anything wrong, but because I just hate the world and he’s part of it.

We went to get Sue a hangover hamburger. I was quiet – not mad (yet), but silent. Bobby asked me what was wrong. I said “our baby died.” There was silence. And few minutes passed. Then Bobby said, “Sweetie, no really, what’s REALLY bothering you?” Like the death of Baby Rettew just didn’t quite meet the standard of good-enough-reasons-according-to-Bobby. The sincerely concerned tone of his voice wasn’t enough to curtail my immediate urge to decapitate him, push him out of the car into oncoming traffic, stab him with my plastic spoon, scratch his big, brown, concerned, stupid eyes out. Not necessarily in that order.

So my silence turned from sad to seething. I bit back a cutting, crippling response and tried to talk myself down. Ok, Sarah, take a deep breath. Ok, maybe two deep breaths. Your hormones are a little unsteady, thus causing this murderous urge. Bobby loves you and he really, REALLY didn’t intend to belittle and discount the dead baby in the sewage tank. Yes, I know you want to scream obscenities and say really hurtful things and maybe even physically maim him. But you can’t because you would be blaming Bobby for things that aren’t his fault, and just because he’s the closest target doesn’t make it right. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The hangover hamburger run was completed without any bloodshed, but Bobby, because he’s not stupid, knew that something was up. So HE became angry with ME. I’m still not clear on exactly how it became my fault, and why HE was angry at ME, but he was. He skulked around for hours, purposefully silently stalking through the room repeatedly, to let me know that he was mad. And by this time, my murderous rage had passed and I really, really wanted him to just let it go. I’m not mad anymore, so I don’t know why anyone else would be either. Yeah, I’m just a joy to live with, let me tell ya. I just wanted this fucking day to be over. So I went to sleep. Always a good solution to days that suck ass.

I was awakened by my father’s voice – he and Bobby were talking over me about money (yay, love that subject – NOT), and Sue’s insurance woes, and such. Daddy leaned down and patted my head and said “you ok?” It was an understated but completely genuine show of concern. I said something incoherent through my sleep haze, then immediately returned to my nice nap of oblivion.

A few hours later, Bobby woke me up and suggested we take a spin on our nice, new, shiny bikes. So we zoomed about – I’m horribly out of shape but it felt good to only concentrate on making it up the next hill. We eventually circled around to Jennifer’s house, where we inhaled water and I held the Maggie. This is where Bobby made his second verbal misstep of the day. He was telling Jen about Daddy’s visit, about how I was “acting all grief-stricken.” Oh, the fury. We rode home on our bikes in silence, and then duked it out on the front porch. I accused him of not caring about our baby and minimizing my feelings, and he defended himself, saying that he was tired of always being the scapegoat, the fall guy, the catch-all.

And he’s right. He is the catch-all. Of course, he makes himself an easy target with comments like “acting all grief-stricken” but I know Bobby, and I know that he’s not mean-spirited and truly had no malicious intent. We’re in different places right now. He honestly doesn’t feel like we lost a baby, because in his mind there was no baby. He’s not being purposefully hurtful… Bobby has rarely been purposefully hurtful during our entire marriage. But he’s trying to understand, and that’s all I can expect. He loves me. This I know.

Last night, I bought a little marker, and Bobby and I are going to make a tiny memory garden for our baby that almost was. I ordered it without his input – somehow, I figured that he wouldn’t care. I feel so alone in this, even though I tell myself I shouldn’t.

This really blows.