stupid pictures, stupid wine

Who would have thought it possible that pictures of J as a little kid could break my heart? Left alone at the in laws' for the night, I spied an old photo album on the bookshelf. It's one I vaguely remember us paging through years ago as giddy collegiates in a new relationship, snuggled onto the couch late at night on one of my first visits to meet his family. He was merely looking at old photos, reliving his past.....I was dreaming and planning and envisioning our future family (middle names and all) a la Kate Hudson in "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days". I remember how those photos made me feel back then, 5 or so years ago, when marriage was a distinct possibility but far from a certainty. I knew I wanted to marry J and hoped he felt the same way- but at 21 or 22, we only danced around that topic, neither of us wanting to be the first to jump that gun and send the other running back to greek mixers and random makeouts. Where was I going with this? Oh, the photos. So back then, they made me feel hopeful, made my heart skip a little thinking of the two of us someday creating a little blonde headed monster that looked like the grinning little guy with the mischevious glint in his eyes. It nearly took my breath away to think we may someday be husband and wife and welcome to the world a little version of the two of us. Back then, when having children was a "we will"....not an unsettlingly vague hope or wish or dream. Tonight, the photos knocked me on my ass in a way I couldn't have imagined. Seeing this little guy of 3 or 4 horseplaying with his little sister, momentarily pausing the action to grin at his mom on a slide in Scotland, squirming beside his dad on some urban European street....made me hurt for the babies we've lost. Especially the first one, the one in my heart I know was a boy. Would he have had those same curious curls? The same energetic, glowing blue eyes? It even hurts to look at his young, gorgeous parents- so happy and fulfilled in a way I just always assumed we would be, too, the moment we were ready. I do know in my heart we'll be parents. I know that. But I wish that I could somehow have been prepared for the journey those aspirations would take us on. Wondering about these lost babies and staring down at those photos hurts me in a way I can only describe as a total emotional and physical pain, a proverbial elephant not just in the room but planted right on top of my chest, making it hard to breathe or move or do anything but choke back a sob and get another glass of wine. The pain of that dull lump in my throat, a longing for what should have been ours in two short months. Two months! A pain so insufficiently dulled by the large glass (fine, glasses) of Riesling I poured after slamming the dusty album closed and placing it carefully back up on the shelf, wishing I'd never taken it down. A pain that feels as if my body is hollow, all my hopes and dreams for our family scooped away and disposed of before the anesthesia wore off.

So sad.