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Okay, so yesterday, after I answered my email and sent out invitations to the last Buffy Night ever and before I sent off an angry missive to WSBK, spitting sparks because Buffy had been preempted for the Sox game, I talked to the Artboy. And told him about the baby. And made plans to meet him for lunch next Tuesday.
It was a really, really weird moment.
I don't have a whole lot of regrets in my life, except revolving around the One Big Thing. The abortion. The choice he and I made not to have a child. And while I still don't think it was the wrong decision, exactly, doing it this time For Real has made me think that maybe, just maybe, we gave up too easily the first time around. That it wasn't as insurmountable as it appeared. That we would have been okay.
Then, of course, I think about the Artboy, and I think about myself, and I think about the directions our lives went in, and what it would be like today if in that mix there was a five-year-old.
Yep. Our child would be five. That blows me away.
But when I think about that, I realize that it was, if not THE right thing to do, at least not the wrong thing to do. It was a choice. And with a different choice, I wouldn't be who I am today. With a different choice, I wouldn't be having the Husband's baby now.
I pass judgement on myself in that regard all the time. And the conclusion that I've come to is that it was a selfish thing to do. But sometimes, selfish isn't wrong.
Still makes me sad. And what I discovered yesterday is that it makes him sad, too. WHich was something of a surprise, actually. Though I don't know why I'm surprised. No--that's not true. We spoke of it so little when we were together that I thought, deep down, that my being out of his day-to-day would mean he didn't think about it any more. Not that MY not speaking of it to him meant I wasn' t thinking of it. We were terrible communicators, the Artboy and I, when it came to each other.
We do much better now that it's not so important.
So, yeah. I'm meeting him for lunch. And we will hug, and he will put his hand on my belly, and I will feel a pull at the thought of what might have been. But I will come home happy with my reality, and it will be a good thing.
That's my thought today, anyway.
*********************************** Okay, so let me add this. It's been about an hour since I added this entry. In the time since, I've been playing around online. I just realized that I can smell the Artboy. No, he's not here. It's like writing all of that brought his scent into my head. Irish Spring soap and clean sweat, ice cream and pot smoke, paint and band practice. All mixed in together. I wouldn't say that if anyone else smelled that way, they would smell good to me, but it's his smell, so it's one my brain finds comforting. Even after all this time.
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