My trip was great.
First of all, I need to make it clear that I was not worried or feeling guilty one iota about leaving El Chico. I've never spent more than 10-12 hours away from him at a time before, but he's fine with hanging with El Grande for long periods of time without giving me a second thought (back from the days when El Grande was unemployed and we'd trade off active duty). I figured it would be just like when El Grande is gone overnight--we miss him and talk about where he is, but it's not traumatic at all.
It was El Grande I was worried about, because it's exhausting to be a with a 3-year-old by yourself for 48 hours straight. If the situation had been reversed, I would have been dreading the weekend. But maybe I'm just more shallow than my husband is, because El Grande seems completely unscathed by the experience (I would be milking it for a bigger Valentine's Day present--but I think we've established that I'm shallow that way).
Anyway, the trip was great. It was nice to be with my friends without worrying about things breaking or my husband having to get into some conversation with someone else's husband who might be a boring tool (my closest friends all have husbands with stellar personalities, but a couple of the women in the next level of our circle seem to value other things their mates). I got to sleep by myself for two nights in a row. The first night I was freaked out that I hadn't felt the baby moving in a long time, so I kept waking up, terrified, praying* the baby was still alive in there. The next morning I drank two cans of Coke in a row, and the baby started to move again, and everything went back to normal, so my second night in a bed of my own was fabulous.
My friend who is waiting for her D&C came at the last minute to the shower (having cooked a delicious entree) and left early. She was subdued, but I don't think anyone else noticed. I could tell that her husband was on edge, though, and she said to me that he was starting to move into the anger stage of grief. I love him. They're lucky they have each other. I wish I wish they weren't going through this.
The shower was at the house of a childfree couple, and I had to squelch my jealousy at how clean and toy-free their house is. Their extensive wine rack, super-clean windows, stain-free cream-colored furniture. I wouldn't trade it for El Chico and El Proximo, but I do kinda think ahead to when the kids are off at college and I can have a clean house and sit around drinking wine with my husband all evening.
At one point, only a small group of women were left (minus my friend who left early with her husband) and talk turned to pregnancy and childbearing. There was way more miscarriage and infertility talk than I had expected to hear. It seems everyone in that group knows at least one infertile couple or woman who's miscarried at least once. The women who hadn't had children seemed well aware that it might not be the smoothest path. It made me feel good, like maybe they weren't going to have the shit kicked out of them by all the nasty things can happen, because they weren't expecting it to be easy and could muster some energy for the trip before they started.
That's pretty much all there is to report from the weekend.
*A few weeks ago my grandmother called me, because she'd heard from my mom that I was kind of down about my pregnancy. (What my mom probably said was something along the lines of "She doesn't like being pregnant very much." Which is completely accurate.) My grandmother, who birthed 5 babies (with no miscarriages), asked me what was making me unhappy. I replied that I just couldn't relax very much, because I was worried that things could go wrong. "That's why you should just tell your troubles to Jesus. That way you don't have to worry about anything, if you just trust in Him," she said. Normally, I try to just go along to get along with her, but this time I lost it and said, "Grandma, I know plenty of women who have trusted Jesus whose babies have still died. I don't think it's because they didn't have enough faith. I think Jesus is worrying along with me, not playing Pollyanna." She didn't know where to go from there. But am I nut because I think there's NOTHING WRONG with worrying through pregnancy? And that the benefit of believing in a higher power is not that you get to engage in magical thinking but that you have someone to hold your hand while you worry? I know my grandmother's faith is very useful to her (got her through a truly crappy childhood), but enough with the Slot Machine God, people.