The men in our lives

First let me say that I'm taking suggestions on a good name to use when referring to my husband here in blogland. I call him Hockey Butt here at home, so perhaps HB will do, but I'm open to suggestions!

Anyhow, once again I'm reminded how important it is to look outside of myself when dealing with miscarriage. When we lost Brodie, everyone that acknowledged our situation was more comfortable asking about me. I guess because the woman was the physical carrier of the baby (or babies) and is the one people know is in pain. My husband was not in physical pain, but he was definitely in pain. And society forced him to be strong.

So this week we had another "loss". Oh yeah - let's work on another word for that too ok? As Cecily says, we don't put our babies down somewhere and lose them! But I digress (again).

I was able to cry...crawl under the blanket...take a day off work. My husband was great. He fed me; cuddled; pampered; did all the right things. He even went to the store with a note that said "buy honking big, long pads with wings". He's just cute enough to get away with the looking helpless in the "feminine hygiene products" aisle to attract good help with product selection. It works like a charm every time and I never feel guilty about sending him. (Note to self...focus! Damn!)

Last night my husband had a melt down.

At first I was completely taken aback. He went on, at length, about how busy he was. Overwhelmed. All these things requiring his attention. He hadn't had time for a work out all week. He went off. And on. And on.

At first I tried to offer a few suggestions, and then I realized what was going on.

He was grieving.

So I listened. For a long time.

And today? I had my well adjusted, handsome, even keeled, tampon buying, husband back. Who just hugged me and said "thanks". I smiled, and we moved on with our days.

Men need to vent too. Who knew? Well, I knew. I just needed a reminder.