During my flirtation with gestation I developed 2 food aversions-sesame seeds and garlic in my eggs. The first was inconsequential. I have no sesame seed feelings, but the second was a true loss mourned by both myself and Honey Bee.

It happened by accident this morning. I picked up a different box of Kashi Bars at the store, ate one, and read the ingredients at a stoplight. I stopped, looked at the box, looked at the half eaten bar, looked back at the box. There it was-sesame seeds. Huh. I didn’t even notice, and I had not only opened and smelled the bar, but I had actually ingested much of it. It was a bit of a let down after a summer filled with avoiding children munching on those sesame seed infected pretzels-are those the new kid crack or something, they’re everywhere! Just the smell was enough to turn me green. There was also the incident involving accidentally purchased sesame covered tortilla chips that I don’t really want to re-live…ever. And there I was this morning, innocently gobbling down sesame along with my flax, almonds, and oats, as if my food aversion, and by relation, my miscarriage, didn’t happen.

The sesame seeds made me cry. Strange that I have emotions tied to a seed that, until my miscarriage, wouldn’t have warranted a second thought on an everything bagel. A seed that meant nothing now felt like it means everything: that time is marching on, what if I’ve waited too long, what if I can’t ever ovulate again no matter how much Follist.im I inject at the problem?

3 weeks ago, as I whisked the eggs, Honey Bee went for the garlic, put it back, apologized and looked pained for even considering it, and I told him to give it a go as I thought it would be fine. At the table 20 minutes later   the majority of my eggs remained untouched. Honey Bee noticed, of course, and I tried to brush it off, of course, but we both knew. As much as I want the freedom of garlicky goodness in my eggs, the aversion is a reminder that the miscarriage will always be there. And with something intangible like a loss, the hardest part for me is the lack of concrete closure, ritual, or acknowledged mourning. Those garlic eggs are my last physical reminder, but we will never forget.

I wish I could put all of the hurt someplace. All of the pain from infertility, loss, stupid people saying stupid things, intelligent loving people saying stupid things, my hopes, the life-plans turned on end, and the mind-fuck that is wanting a child and not being able to have one. I’d visit it from time to time, I’d know where it is and honor it, but it would be contained, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it showing up unanounced in my breakfast.

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