Twice in the last month when someone has asked how many kids I have I've taken the easy way out and said one. The first time is was because Al was with me and I know she doesn't like attention called to her. The next time I don't remember details, I think J and I were together and when asked if Al was our only child we both said yes. It's no longer worth it to me to tell strangers of my loss. If I'm never going to see you again you don't have the right to know my baby girl.
I don't know exactly why it changed, it could have something to do with the reactions I've received recently when answering the how many kids question. People who rapidly change the subject and clearly don't want to hear about such sad topics.Or maybe I'm just pushing my emotions down to the depths even more intensely lately. It might not last, but I do know that it is a relief to not have to grit my teeth through that particular social minefield, though I do still feel myself bracing myself for the conversation in every situation where I am meeting new people (huh, I suddenly realize while typing why my social anxiety has gotten so bad...). I'm not the most socially adept person anyway, and telling people about my dead kid without breaking down while simultaneously not looking like a stone cold robot is pretty difficult even on the best days. But I do feel like I'm betraying her.
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