Life Registry

My sister’s bridal shower is on Monday. I’m practicing my sassy comebacks for when relatives ask prying questions. But frankly, I was most worried about my sisters. Yesterday I had to call my mom and ask whether or not my sisters knew that I had miscarried–because if they did, they hadn’t said anything to me. And after sitting here stewing in my own solitude for over a month, I began to wonder.

Turns out they did know. So yesterday, in a rare conversation with my mom, I sobbed and told her nobody loves me. Mom had decided weeks ago that I was probably “over it” because I have a “thick skin” (ignoring the fact that this happened under my skin) so she also neglected to call. Ma talked to my sisters who, in turn, called that night. Sister #1 said she forgot to and then the longer she waited the more awkward she felt. Sister #2 called when I was in choir and has promised to call again tonight. So at least I’ll know where we stand in time for the bridal shower.

So here I am, skipping work, watching Mad Men (finally), sifting through my sister’s bridal registry, thinking about how awkward it is to make bridal registries. When Husband and I made ours we went around Target scanning things we needed/wanted/didn’t need at all. I felt very uncomfortable with the whole thing–asking people, some of whom I wasn’t particularly close with, to buy stuff for our house. A lady who overheard me actually stopped me.

She said “NO! It’s not awkward! It’s WoNdErFUL!” She waxed quite poetic about the circle of life and how we would someday help our nieces and family friends with their first sets of cutlery. Registries help us know exactly what our loved ones need and she was very adamant that we enjoy the whole thing. So we tried.

Now, as I scroll through my sister’s registry, I’m getting quite jealous. Not only do I want that down comforter she registered for, but wish I could make my own registry. Just for life. Or for grieving. If my family’s completely unintentional but incredibly hurtful (lack of) reaction to my miscarriage is any indication, and assuming mom is right and people do actually care about me, then they have no clue what I need. Everyday life registries should be a thing. I’m serious.

I wish I could just go to Amazon and register for a cup of tea with a friend. Or a home cooked meal, because every food I touch turns into crap lately. Or perhaps someone could just take my phone for a day and take messages for me, so I don’t have to do anything.

I would probably register for lots of brainless distractions. I wouldn’t mind babysitting someone elses’ kids or helping someone clean their kitchen if it got me out of my own head for a day. I’d register for that. I’d register for a trip to one of the movies that my husband would have no interest in. I’d register for someone to sit on my couch and harass me constantly until I did all the house things I’m too much of a lump of sad to do. I’d register for a new comedy, because I’m rapidly running out of Parks and Rec, and I’m worried that once that’s over I’ll never laugh again. I’d register for lightweight, wimpy girl exercise.

I would love it if someone just went to all of my pregnant cousins and friends and gave them my hearty congratulations and told them P.S., stop moaning constantly about your pregnancy symptoms on facebook. I’d register for a phone call or email a day or a real letter in the mail. I would register for the permission to whine uninterrupted and without judgment for 20 minutes while another person says “I know it sucks” at regular intervals and hands me tissues. I’d register for an electric blanket, a massage, and 4 hours with a puppy.

I think we need a snappier name than “Life Registry” but the concept is sound. Whether you just moved to a town you hate, or you are trapped at home all day with your kid and would like a break, or you are slogging through your master’s or PhD program, or you just divorced, or lost your job. Or hell–even if life is grand and you just want to register for something. This could totally be a thing.

What would you register for?

5 thoughts on “Life Registry

  1. I’d register for a nap, an organized closet, a workout buddy who lives next door who will drag my butt out of bed, a grocery store run when my cupboards rival Old Mother Hubbard’s, and a two-hour bath with stash of Villainess products.

  2. Ditto Alli on the baby, so then you could have two! šŸ™‚ Also, the hybrid wardrobe I imagined on litchick’s FB wall. New shoes so my feet will stop hurting. A magical toy that my daughter can’t eat and never gets tired of– and since we’re entering the magical realm I’d also like a a new thyroid. I’m with you on the new comedy, Parks & Rec has to end someday. And on that note, another amazing series like Downton Abbey would be nice. And I think my last registry item would be your address, so that I can write you a real paper and envelope letter. I’m dead serious.

  3. First, your list.
    I am babysitting the twins for an hour tomorrow, if you want to keep me company you may. Forewarning: It might be extra hard because mom and dad are going to find out the sex of baby #3. But if babysitting is what you want, it is on the table.
    I was thinking it might be fun to go see The Artist with you. I love love loved it. It broke a three week deep depression for me and I will be going again. So we could do that tomorrow.
    I will not harass you to do housework. We’ve had a jar of popcorn on the floor for nearly a week, so I have no room to talk.
    Sister Wives is not funny, but it is fascinating. You will be sucked in.

    I vote you start whining about something much grosser on facebook to get back at them. Like how you ate so much raisin bran in the last two days your body couldn’t handle the fiber and you almost pooped your pants on the way to work. No, that was me. It is always me who does that.

    Anyway, sorry life rots. I really am. And I’m sorry I’ve been a lousy friend. You should know that it isn’t because I don’t care or thought you could handle this. It was because life has felt like a giant pile of poop and I have been spending a lot of time crying and staring at the wall, for less justifiable reasons than you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s