I met my new niece last weekend. She's one month old. Hubs and I both had a hard time with my sister's pregnancy and our new niece's birth. Thankfully the weather cooperated (for once) and gave us a snow storm every weekend from the time she was born until this past weekend giving us a convenient and true excuse to not make the three hour trip before we were ready. With no crappy weather in sight and me on spring break we were out of excuses and scheduled the obligatory visit for this past weekend.
Meeting the baby was wonderful. She's cute and healthy and tiny and perfect. And for as much of an (unintentional) jerk as my sister was during her pregnancy she seems to be a very relaxed mom and actually didn't say or do anything that hurt my feelings, so that was nice.
Saturday was also my mom's birthday so my youngest sister (the pregnant sister) organized a small party for her at my parent's house. I thought that it was going to be a small gathering for family but it turned out to be quite a few of her friends too. I learned that my mom has told pretty much everybody she knows about our infertility issues, despite me asking her to keep it between the two of us.* So not only did I get the pleasure of being around a whole bunch of women, all mothers, who talked about all the fun things that this particular demographic talks about when they get together, but I also got to feel like all eyes were on me. Fun times.
The non-highlight of the weekend came when my grandma said to me "you really should give her to someone who knows what they are doing" when I was holding the baby and she woke up and started to squeak. That was perhaps the most hurtful thing that anyone has ever said to me. I mean, she cried for like three seconds. Last time I checked that's pretty much what babies do. I suspect that she just wanted to hold the baby but there are much better ways to go about asking to do so. It took everything I had in me to not cry, go batshit crazy on her, or some combination of the two. I took my dog on a hike and my grandparents were gone when I returned. I honestly don't know if I'll ever speak to her again.
I was able to pull on my big girl pants, slap a smile on my face, and survive the weekend. A few good memories were made but the majority of the weekend was just plain hard. It's times like this when I realize that I may not be as far along in the healing process as I thought that I was. Right now I feel pretty vulnerable and am still processing the weekend. I thought I was doing so well. I guess not. And to think that I get to do this all over again in June. Yay.
*To clarify, I do not necessarily mind that people know, I just feel like it wasn't my mom's place to tell anyone since I explicitly asked her not to.