Last night was my husband’s high school reunion. We went with the expectation that we would stay a while, eat food, he wouldn’t remember anyone, and we would go home. As it turns out he knew more people than he thought he would and ended up having a great time. He also partook in lots of beer, which helped immensely. He had a fantastic time.

I can’t say I had a bad time, though my feet were aching by the end, just from standing and mingling (or rather, standing by my husbands side while he mingled, since I didn’t know anyone!). I ate the appetizers that floated around the room, drank lots of water, and chit-chatted with people. We even met one person who understands a lot of what we’ve gone through, and it was very nice to just talk openly. Even now it still feels like a little beacon of comfort when we find someone who has fought a similar battle.

I left it to Den to decide how to handle introductions, and pretty much for the night we settled on a simple, pat, mostly-truth answer: when asked if we had children I would point to my belly and say, “One on the way.” They assumed this was the only one, and we did not correct that notion. Well, a couple people asked if this was our first, and we simply just said, “Yes.” Without guilt, too. But for the most part it just remained unsaid, and that was absolutely fine. I was so not into telling the story 30 times at a party of people I will likely never see again (or not until the next reunion, at least). Den being older, most of the people at the reunion had teenage children. There were a couple of perplexed looks, as if to say, “You’re just starting now? but by looking at me they would assume it was because he just got married recently (me being much younger). I know that’s hard on Den – seeing clearly around him how old he is to be just starting a family.

So of course once the news was spilled their face would light up and they would proceed to tell us how having children is the most wonderful thing ever and how we will just have the best time ever. I winced inwardly every time. How much would that have hurt to hear before I got pregnant? Not to mention the assumptions involved. I mentally added a “… if this one is born alive” to every comment.

By the end of the night I was planting my butt wherever I could sit it, and fading visibly – despite having taken a 3 or 4 hour nap in the afternoon. We finally left around 1am. In the truck as I drove home Den kept saying, “You are such a patient wife, I love you, I owe you!” I love seeing him having a good time enjoying himself. Even though the last three hours I really just wanted to be in bed, I didn’t feel horrible so I just waited and let him have fun. Many times has he put up with something just for my sake.

In the end, though, it was freaking glorious to come home and go to bed. Unfortunately it was not so glorious to get up to pee a million times, nor the throwing up. Apparently I did not eat nearly enough real meals yesterday, and boy am I paying for it now.