oh yes, I knew I'd forgotten something

One of the two IRL friends who reads this blog pointed out a glaring omission in my (lack of) posts these past few months. S and I are back together...
So, we had that perplexing morning when we broke up and we stayed broken up for five days. During those days we exchanged a few texts and calls and then he came back to London from visiting his parents and straight to my flat. He told me that he hadn't meant what he said and told me that he had panicked. I was sceptical until he said "the last woman I loved died and I never thought I'd get over it. When I realised how I feel about you, I became insanely convinced you would die too. So I ran."
To the casual observer it will seem a very bizarre thing to think. But I've done almost exactly the same. Each time I got pregnant after Starchild I was terrified and convinced (correctly as it happened) that something terrible would fall upon me. I understand drowning in irrational waves of panic.
Since then S and I have gone from strength to strength. I met his parents last month and they like me :-)
And I, kind listener, can't remember when I have been this happy.

"I know exactly how you felt"

A small group of us gathered together for an evening of pizza, wine and gossip.  The conversation ranged from the situation in Crimea to who we thought should go through to the next round on "The Voice", the wine flowed, the pizza was guzzled and a jolly good time was had by all.

At the end of the evening I found myself in the kitchen with the hostess.

"This has been a lovely evening" I said.

"Just what I needed, really," the hostess replied.  "Husband and I have been going through a really difficult time lately and this has taken my mind off things for a while."

She went on to explain that she and her husband have been struggling with infertility and it's been a terrible strain on them both.  

"It's been five months," she sighed.  I stared at her, thinking of my years "in the trenches".

And then she said it:

"I know exactly how you felt when you went through this, Illanare."

I picked up the stuffed toy dog her two-year-old son (conceived after two months of trying and now sleeping sweetly upstairs), had left under the kitched table and handed it to her.

"No, you don't," I said.  "I'm sorry for your difficulties, but you have no idea - NO IDEA - how I feel."