Lately I’ve been seeing myself in other people. Not in their faces for some physical similarity, but for circumstances and situations. It’s kind of an odd feeling, looking at people and seeing bits of me looking back.

When we went to the poker night a while back, my coworker gave us a very quick tour of the downstairs of the new house he and his wife just bought. It’s a beautiful house, but it was almost like walking through a model home. Everything was perfect. Furniture just so. Everything coordinated exactly. It was a large house too and I caught myself thinking that the two of them must rattle around in that big house by themselves, wondering if they had kids, and if not, why they’d gotten such a big house – maybe they were planning kids. It didn’t occur to me til a bit later that Richard and I will be looked at in just the same way. We’re building a house that is probably too big for just two people, and even with the cats we may rattle around in it a bit. How would I feel knowing that someone was jumping to conclusions based on that?

I was in the grocery store a few weeks ago, standing in line at the checkout counter with the makings for peach pie (because Richard’s coworker was going to crash at our place for the night and having company over always brings out the domestic in me) and the woman in front of me caught my eye. She was older – probably at least in her 60’s or 70’s, trim, with beautiful white hair and a bright mischievious smile. She held herself poised proudly, and walked with a spring in her step. She was beautiful because of her self-confidence and obvious energy and I nearly opened my mouth and spoke the thought aloud – that it was my fervent wish that I could look that good when I was her age. And then before I could let the words escape I thought about how they might sound – as if it was an insult although none was intended, and quite the opposite, and so I kept silent, but as I drove back home I wondered if I should have said something anyway, just a comment, woman to woman, to let her know that she was an inspiration, even if it was only to a tired stranger buying sour cream and pie crusts. And how would I react if, by some stroke of fortune when I reach that age, I am in her shoes and someone said that to me? Would I be flattered? Offended?

I notice people more, lately. I’m not sure why that is so – it just happens. A couple catches my eye, the way they’re holding hands as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and the sight of love portrayed so quietly and effortless tugs a smile to my lips no matter what mood I’m in, and I wonder if we’ll do that for someone, years down the road when we walk through an airport, hand in hand, simply content to be touching without speaking.

I notice marriages now. I never paid much attention to them before. I could point out things that might worry me or amuse me about friends and acquaintances, but the whole concept of their relationships never really occurred to me one way or the other. But now I find myself watching my sisters with their husbands, friends with their spouses, my parents, parents of friends. I’m not sure quite what it is that I’m looking for – perhaps some small clue to what ties each pair together; what do’s and don’t’s I can glean from them that might work in my marriage to Richard; what to do and what to avoid doing. They’re all individuals, with relationships as unique as they are and I can never truly compare, but I watch nonetheless and yet even as I do I still ask myself why it has suddenly become so much more interesting to me now that I am on the verge of marriage myself.

The driveway to the project site in Lake Stevens curves gently around in a circle through an expanse of green grass and vibrant fall trees. There’s a ‘duck crossing’ sign midway down, showing a small family of duck silhouettes walking in single file, although I’ve never seen a duck there yet. There’s a cougar on the site, somewhere, or so they tell us, amid laughing notes to not go outside at night with a steak in hand. There is a trail that weaves its way behind the buildings through the forest and along the road that offers a scenic walk to relax the mind. It’s a lovely place outside, even though I only caught glimpses here and there throughout this week.

It was a dark week – and by that I mean that I would drive to the site before the sun rose, and drive back to my hotel after it had set. It rained on and off, but then that’s the type of weather I’ve learned to expect from the Seattle area. It was cloudy and wet and gray – all perfectly suited to what I had expected from this week.

But there is truth to the saying that even clouds have silver linings. Much to my surprise, the groups that were shipped in from all around the world to this warehouse of a building actually took it seriously. After nearly a year of indecision, design is being finalized. Conversations are brief, decisions are made, and we are actually ahead of schedule. So much for my gloomy forecast (shared by significant numbers of the rest of the IT department) that they’d not even get halfway through their task list by the end of the three weeks.

There were other bright spots throughout the week as well. Dinners with coworkers I’ve worked with for months but never had the chance to know. Laughter around garlic bread, small-town cooking where everything is smothered in cheese, dinner out where I rely on the rest to choose from a menu of food I love, but can never pronounce. And even if it had all gone wrong, I had my visit with my little sister to look forward to Friday night.

It was storming Friday afternoon as I left the building, the sky angry and clouded. But halfway down 405 the sun broke free. The week was over, the project is still running, and we’re not as doomed as I had begun to believe we might be.

Despite the smooth beginning to this design session, my optimism is cautious at best. But people have a tendency to surprise you when you least expect it. It’s a start.

I feel like a 6-year old playing on daddy’s computer. I hate it when the only chair they give you in the hotel room was meant for someone at least a foot taller than me. Or maybe I’ve just got a really short torso. Hmm. No. It’s discrimination, I tell you. Hotel rooms were designed for tall business men, not short business women.

I flew to Seattle this evening, and then made the long trek through the darkness to somewhere north of there. I’m not exactly sure where I am because I got a bit lost trying to find the second hotel. See, because they did all the planning for these design sessions I’m here for so late last week, when they sent out the hotel confirmations this morning, at least half the names didn’t have a hotel attached. So we were told to go to one of them, and they’d tell us where to head next. Uh. Okay. I found the first one easily enough, and they were kind enough to supply me with a map, with the location of the hotel I was *supposed* to be at cleverly marked with an arrow.

Of course it would have helped if they’d marked the right *spot*. Sigh. I spend a good ten minutes going in big circles trying to find a non-existent street. Finally I broke down, dragged out the cell phone (and thank goodness I thought to recharge it this afternoon) and called them to beg for directions. The impression I got was that this was not the first such call the desk guy had received that evening. At least I know it’s not because I’m clueless (okay, so maybe I am, but getting lost going to the hotel wasn’t related to that.)

I’m driving a Big Car this week (yes, even bigger than mine). I made reservations for a compact like I usually do, figuring that since the only driving I’ll be doing is on the freeway between hotel and project site, and I’ll be the only passenger, I don’t need anything large and hulking. I’m not sure exactly why the guy behind the counter at the airport did this, but apparently he had a whim to upgrade me for free. When I showed up to pick up my car, there was a Subaru Outback sitting in its space. I went back into the office and politely inquired as to the relative un-compactness of this particular vehicle. No such luck. I’m stuck with it. At least I’m only paying the compact price.

My older sister has one of these. She seems to love hers, and that’s cool if she does, but I much prefer my Maxima. Granted that Outback has a *nice* ride (and the unfortunate bonus of being so smooth that you don’t really notice you’re going 80 until you happen to glance at the odometer and yelp). And ooh, that trunk space is nice (once the very tired business traveler figured out how to *open* the trunk that is. Sigh). But I was kinda hoping to get the old standby rental car. I’d never buy a Chevy Cavilier, but they’re lovely rentals. Small, cheap, and familiar to anyone who’s done a lot of travel that required renting cars.

So here I am, back in Washington, and a lot sooner than I’d expected. I was sort of hoping that the only reason I’d come back to this state was to visit my little sister. Pleasure rather than work. Ah well. Such is not to be. I’m tired. Crossing fingers the week flies by without anyone killing anyone else (the very nature of what we’re about to undertake in these sessions is bound to get a whole lot of people rather upset).

Anyway, here I am. Tired. Really tired. But after the time I had getting to the hotel, I’m too wired to sleep. Yet. Now if I can just scrounge enough pillows to put on this darn desk chair so I’ll actually be tall enough to *type*……

I was at PetSmart, perusing the litter scoops, and saw something that made me a do a double take.

It’s a battery-operated litter scoop. I swear I’m not making this up. No, really! The darn thing has a button and when you press it, it vibrates. I guess this is to sift the litter faster. Goddess knows you wouldn’t want to hurt your wrist by shaking the scoop by hand.

A vibrating litter scoop. Just think of the possibilities. Hmm… I’m not quite sure I *want* to know what they’ll come up with next….

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One of the most fun things about little kids is the way they watch things that are new and exciting. We (my parents, my older sis and her husband, and I) took my nephew to see the new fire truck in Dixon. Okay, so maybe that’s not all that exciting to most of you, but he’s really into trucks and trains, so this was a big deal for him. He toddled around the truck, jabbering away in that language only the child’s parents can decipher….although I’m starting to grab more words out of the muddle now. He was fascinated by the two helicopters that were there from the emergency response team, and watched in awe as one of them took off and lifted gracefully into the air.

As he was examining a plastic firefighter’s hat, my mom and I were distracted by a little girl. She couldn’t have been more than two, dressed in a little bubble suit, curly hair, leaning forward in that way that little kids do when they’re watching intently, head craned back as far as she could, watching her daddy as he put on his firefighter’s suit. A bit later he draped his jacket carefully around her shoulders, completely dwarfing her, while she watched him, eyes round, very serious.

***********************

This work schedule thing is getting crazy. Between Richard and I and our travel plans for work, we’re going to only end up seeing each other for about 3 days in the next few weeks, and most of that time will be merely a wave as we pass each other. He left for Boston this morning and even though I had nothing planned, I got up early with him so I could at least spend a bit of time with him before he left. We drove to the airport in separate cars because I figured as long as I was up I might as well hit the PetSmart to get stuff the cats needed. While we were driving, I violated one of my hard and fast rules. The cell phone rang and I answered it. In my defense, this is the first time it’s actually rung that I’ve heard it (probably because I’ve only given the number to 3 people – heh), and also I knew that it would be Richard. We drove down the freeway chatting for a few extra moments until the signal got too fuzzy (probably from my phone since the evil little thing can’t seem to hold a charge more than about five minutes).

But back to the travel schedules. Richard gets back from Boston on Tuesday night, but we won’t see each other because Monday night I fly to Seattle for the latest batch of design sessions (because even though they’ve been unable to finalize the design for this project in an entire year, someone seems to think that they can do it in three weeks. Uh. Sure). The bright spot about this trip is that I’ll be just about an hour or two away from my little sister, and of course the world’s cutest little niece, so Friday night I’ve planned to swing by their place to visit. This means, however, that I won’t get back til late Saturday morning, and so our time together will be spent in the car, as we both have plans for the rest of that day (and part of the next). Then he’s back to Portland for the next week, while I stay home (and try desperately to avoid being dragged back to Seattle with the rest of the crew), and the following week he’ll be in Atlanta and I will either be home, or in Andover, MA Needless to say, I’m crossing all available digits that they *don’t* decide to hold the final meetings in Andover. Call me crazy, but they’re scheduled to break ground on our house that week and I have been planning for some time to head over with the digital camera to snap some shots of the first day of dirt moving.

On the plus side though, it looks like he’s nearly done with the weekly commute to Portland, so despite the long hours and exhaustion of both our jobs, at least we’ll be in the same state after we drag home from work and collapse each night. It doesn’t mean things are going to get any better – at the project I’m on, our deadline’s been extended til December 1st, which means that crunch time has stretched into the holiday season, sigh – but at least we’ll be able to grumble about being overworked to each other’s faces instead of over the phone.

Winter is coming, albeit reluctantly, dragging his feet, lounging in the door while summer and fall wrestle over who gets to push past him first. The weather hasn’t been able to make up its mind these last few months. It’s flip-flops between unseasonably hot for this time of year, and then unseasonably cold, all in the space of a few days.

But winter is finally coming, because the fog has begun. In this part of California, the cold season is heralded by morning fog – mist that pools in fields to transform the landscape into something mystical, hiding the brown of summer’s heat under a swirling blanket of delicate wisps of white. Before the rain starts and everything oversaturates, the fog comes first.

There are hazards to fog – the rate of accidents always increases this time of year, of course – but it’s still beautiful, the way it blankets everything in silence. By late morning it burns off, the occasional wisp still clinging to grass, and then at night it rolls in again, so thick that when I’m driving the back roads between my town and the next, the only car on the road, I can see nothing behind me but total blackness, and only the swirl of mist in my headlights. It’s an eerie feeling, this sense that I am the only person in the world, but beautiful still.

I love this time of year, when mornings seem to cry out for snuggling back under the blankets with obliging cats instead of poking bare toes out into the chilly air of the room. This type of weather makes me want to stay home and bake, and mull cider. It makes me look forward to putting on clothes fresh from the dryer, hugging warm fabric close to ward off the chill. It makes me daydream of curling up on the couch with a mug of cocoa and a good book when I should be keeping my mind on more important things like work.

The fog is, in a way, a promise of what is to come. I know that when the fog arrives, it won’t be long til holiday season, air filled with cinnamon and nutmeg and pine, greeting cards and secret Santas. Despite the fact that work stress has gone from bad to worse, that in a few short weeks they will begin building our house and my non-work stress will increase drastically as we are faced with hundreds of decisions, I can still be happy. Winter is nearly here.

The alarm woke me with a jolt this morning and, momentarily disoriented, I rolled over and was surprised that Richard was already up – I hadn’t even heard him. Then I remembered that he’s back in Portland, same as every week since September, and same as it will be til mid November, and I sighed and poked the snooze button, unwilling to get up just yet. The cats, sensing a moment of weakness, swarmed. Sebastian draped himself over my feet. Allegra curled up beside me. Tangerine settled on my pillow and, for once, didn’t try to eat my hair.

Last night was the first night I’ve been able to sleep without tossing and turning for days now. Work keeps creeping in as soon as I close my eyes, circles of ‘what if we did this’ dancing with ‘what if they don’t do that’. It’s been frustrating, lying there on my pillow, unable to get it out of my head. Last night was welcome relief, but perhaps that’s because yesterday’s 13-hour day brought a lot of things finally to a head.

Over the past week, we’ve been asked (the IT team leads) to evaluate a number of different scenarios, each one involving backing out some of the work we’ve already done, some more extensive than others. It’s taken a few days – little groups of us crowded into small rooms with white board pens and spreadsheets, trying to ignore the feeling of being blindsided as we attempt to determine just what this would cost us, and all the while not quite sure which scenario would finally be chosen, just as we knew that all this effort we were going through could just as easily be tossed aside as well.

It’s all very well and good to say that I’ll do my best to leave work at work, but in times like this last week, it’s next to impossible. I can’t help worrying over what the final decision will be – how it will affect my team, what effort will be involved in now going through and telling them to undo some of the hard work they’ve already done. No wonder it spills into my head at night, when there are no other distractions to keep my thoughts away from it.

Yesterday though was a turning point, of a sort. At least a direction has been chosen. That, combined with the exhaustion of the long day, finally let me sleep without any thoughts of work at all. I may have dreamed of it, but I rarely remember dreams, and since it never woke me, I don’t care. For the first time in days I woke this morning feeling refreshed and alert. Alright, so I did let the cats sucker me into lingering in bed just a bit longer – the lure of a sleepy cat purr is often too seductive to resist – but only for a bit. Today will be better and less stressful. I have to believe that. I may be deluding myself, but at least I still have hope.

I’ve played poker approximately 3 times in my life, the last time probably back in my undergraduate days. So I was more than a bit hesitant about accepting the invitation for a night of poker when it was extended. After the week I’ve had at work, cumulating in a day-long meeting on Friday, it turned out to be exactly what I needed. And more importantly, it turned out to be a whole lot of fun. I started out with my little cheat sheet of hands (showing which one is higher than the others), and I still don’t have them all completely memorized, but at least now I know a good handful of variations, and what it means if a card is wild or dead, and that I am damn good at bluffing, and that Guts is aptly named.

The man who hosted the poker party set up a number of rules guaranteed to make it fun. We all had to pick wild west names and then call each other by those names (or pay a penalty). We all came with $20 and house rules were that you could still play even if you lost everything, so it was set up to be a friendly game, not a game of how much money could you lose. We switched tables a few times during the night to keep things mixed up. There was plenty of food and drink. The one dim spot was the cigars, but since we were all out in the garage, with doors open and fans blowing, the smoke didn’t get too bad.

Amazingly enough I walked out of there ahead. Wow. The one who always always always no questions asked never any doubt loses at gambling. I fully expected to walk in with $20 and walk out with just some loose change. Okay, so I didn’t rake in the dough, but walking out ahead, even if it was only a buck or two was an unexpected surprise. Richard was down a few bucks, but even so, between the two of us we didn’t even lose enough for a dinner at McDonalds. Not bad for five hours of entertainment, I figure, even if we did leave reeking of cigar smoke, bleary-eyed from the late hour. It was worth it.

I got absolutely nothing productive done on Friday. And it was wonderful. I actually called in sick. I was feeling perfectly fine of course, but sometimes you just have to play hooky. It was a rather difficult decision; I wavered back and forth on the topic for a while that morning. I didn’t have any meetings scheduled and there was nothing due, but on the other hand, how could I justify just not showing up, and if I did stay home I had all this work to do around the house and projects unfinished and, and, and… Until Richard, who had been listening to my dithering with tolerant amusement, pointed out that there was nothing *requiring* me to do anything at all. He was right, of course. So I didn’t. I lounged around and read books. I snuggled with the cats and took naps. I did nothing remotely productive for most of the day. I hadn’t realized quite how much I needed that.

Apparently this wasn’t enough relaxing for my body, though. After the climb up and down that very steep cliff on Saturday, Sunday morning I woke up with arms and legs aching. I’d expected that – it’s been an awfully long time since I’ve done anything quite that strenuous (lo, the fast-paced life of the computer nerd). But what I hadn’t expected was the complete exhaustion. I was dragging most of the day. We had planned to go out looking at floors on Sunday, and did find a color we liked. The next stop was to go through some model homes to get ideas on decorating, but after we’d walked through the first batch, I couldn’t muster up any more energy at all. My stomach was hurting but I figured I’d simply managed to eat something that didn’t agree with me so I brushed it aside.

It wasn’t until I kept complaining of being cold and realized that the temperature in the house was nearly 80 degrees that it finally occurred to me that there might be more to this lack of energy than just the physical workout the day before. Sure enough I had a fever. Amazing how taking a few aspirin will perk you right up again. Sheesh. Took me long enough to figure it out. And fortunately I was perfectly fine again by Monday – right back to work.

Mix:

• One Performer who apparently likes to get naked
• One Olive Garden virgin with a knack for poetry about unsavory acts between female siblings
• One woman with eight pussies
• One man who was taught to drive in New York by a Parisan (and if this doesn’t scare you, it should)
• One woman who was willing to name her price
• One woman who was the token flower child for the day.

Then toss in:

• Naked breadsticks
• Naked men
• Wave, rocks, sand, and a big cliff
• Previews about hokey movies starring vampires
• Good food, and lots of it
• Did I mention the naked stuff?

Stir well, and you’ll get a typical outing with Richard, Ivy, Bethy, Sabs, Ronnie, and I. A day full of laughter, noisy hilarity, thinly veiled innuendos, and the usual mass hysteria that always ensues when this crowd gets together.

Saturday, Richard and I drove down Bethy and Sabs’ afterdinner-mint house in Berkeley, to scritch kitty heads and catch up on careers before heading out in the minivan to pick up Ivy and Ronnie. From there, it was off to Olive Garden, where those of us with morals argued with those who were more free-spirited about whether the breadsticks should be clothed or left to hang free. There was pasta with sausages and meatballs. Alfredo sauce abounded. The water was plentiful, and we left, sated perhaps a bit too much, but ready for adventure (and probably not a bit too soon for those seated around us. We tend to be a fairly boisterous crowd).

Off to the Presido we drove, Sabs doing seat belt tests all the way there as he pretended that the minivan was really a compact car. He took the teasing and screeching from the rear seats in good humor. I’m sure it didn’t help that we had him laughing half the trip.

Bethy and Sabs had been to this area the weekend before and had found this truly gorgeous spot. It was a bit off the track, but we parked and all piled out of the van to take in the breathtaking view over the cliff and out across the ocean. The presence of a tiny path was too tempting for some of us, so four of us headed down toward the beach far, far below. Those of us who are just not all that keen on heights (that would be me!) kept our eyes to the ground and tried our best not to slide right off the cliff to the rocks below. It was slippery and rough going at times, but occasionally we’d reach a bluff that would offer yet another impressive view, with the beach just enough closer to tantalize us into going the distance.

It wasn’t until we were nearly there and could see the beach itself that we realized that it was inhabited primarily by men. Nude men. This was a new experience for me. Heck, I’ve never even skinny-dipped before, and here we were, amid naked men. What with the water crashing against the rocks, the pristine beach, the pelicans and seagulls soaring overhead, and of course the inhabitants, the scenery certainly was um….impressive.

Bethy was first out of her shoes and running for the waves, but the rest of us soon joined her. It’s been an awfully long time since I’ve splashed in the ocean – too long since the feel of sand as it slips away under my feet with the surf, the swirl of the foam from the waves, the grit of salt coating the skin. There’s something a bit magical about the ocean. Lakes may be crystal clear, placid and cool to the touch, but there is nothing like the feel and sight and smell of salt water as it crashes against rocks and eddies around your bare feet.

I think we’d all have been perfectly content to stay there for hours, but two of our little group had stayed up above, so we reluctantly squished back out of the water, having remembered early on that rolling pants legs up never works because the water always splashes higher than you expect, and promising to go back again, next time bringing towels and changes of clothes.

Going back up that cliff was just about as bad as I’d expected – the trail was steep – but bare feet actually made it easier – toes grip rocks easier than sneaker soles, and so by the time we made it back to the clifftop and the cars, it was easy to brush off the sand before putting shoes back on, although it took a few of us a bit longer to catch our breath (okay, so I’m *really* more out of shape than I’d thought!).

After that rather exhausting trip up and down a cliff, the four of us weren’t in any mood to do much more exercise, so after a brief stop at the Palace of Fine Arts to admire the sculptured archways outside, we all decided to go to the Metreon and see what was playing. We ended up watching Beautiful, which was a predictable, but nonetheless entertaining film.

The day ended late, as these gatherings so often do, and Richard and I regretfully bid our farewells. It’s perfectly beautiful days like these that make me wish, even if only for a brief moment, that we lived a bit closer to the Bay Area. Oh, I’d hate the traffic, and the cost of living is insanely expensive, and I’d miss the smaller town atmosphere of home, but sometimes, oh sometimes….

I got into the car on my way to the airport this afternoon to pick up Richard, and, as usual, turned on the radio. The unpleasant voice of the local shock-jock filled the air of my car, and I reached to flip the channel. I listen to that station on the way to work because I find the morning pair entertaining, but this particular disk jockey is characterized by the juvenile boorish and crude humor that seems prevalent in his ilk, and my usual reaction is to find anything else to listen to as soon as his voice comes onto the air.

However, I heard a few words that made me hesitate, and I left the station alone for a moment. He was discussing the approval (finally!) of RU486, the “Abortion Pill”. And it was obvious that he was against it. He and his Anti-Choice cronies blathered on about how horrible this was, that legalizing this pill would just encourage unsafe and irresponsible sex, making women think they didn’t have to take responsibility for their actions. After all, he noted, if you choose to get pregnant, you have to face up to it.

That’s right. Silly me. We women choose to get pregnant all by ourselves. We just wake up one day and say “gosh. I think I’ll fertilize an egg. And now that this miracle pill is available, I can just get pregnant daily and get rid of it without ever having to think!” The man has absolutely nothing to do with it. It’s all internal. We can just switch it on and off, remote control, like a TV, you know. It has nothing to do with broken condoms and other means of failed birth control, uneducated women who were never told the basic facts of life, incest, rape, men who swear that they’ll stay, that they love the woman, and then promptly disappear.

Excuse me. Hypocritical babble which seems so often prevalent in the Anti-Choice crowd always brings out the blatant sarcastic in me.

They call themselves Pro-Life, as if by virtue of believing that a woman should have a right to choose when and if she will have children is somehow akin to being Anti-Life (pro-murder, maybe?). The real title should be Anti-Choice. Because that’s really their agenda. I have no issues with their decision to not have an abortion, should they so *choose*. But they want to go further and remove that choice from everyone else, based on their own version of morality. Strange how this same crowd seems to be the ones who often are against sexual education, easier access to birth control (because of course, if you don’t tell them about it, they won’t have sex. This is why there were never any unmarried pregnant women in the days before sex ed in schools. Uh huh. Yeah), and other things that might help the problem that leads to the need for abortion in the first place.

But regardless of my issues with the whole Anti-Choice movement as a whole, what angered me most about this conversation was the misinformation they were building their ranting on. The RU486 pill is not an over-the-counter pill. It must be prescribed by a doctor. The woman must go through three days of pills. She must go through an ultra-sound and exams. It is probably not painless, as it induces a miscarriage. And it is most certainly NOT easy. Abortion never is.

I’ve known three women who got pregnant out of wedlock. One decided to keep her baby, and eventually married the father of that baby and had more children. She decided against getting abortion for one reason – because her father wanted her to get one. She admits now that, despite how much she loves that child, that she made the choice to keep that baby for all the wrong reasons. The other two women made the choice to terminate their pregnancies. For both of them, it was a very personal decision, and they gave it a lot of thought. It was an extremely difficult decision to make, but they each realized that having a child at that stage in their lives would have been bad for both them and the baby. They’ve each gone on to get married and have children – this time carefully anticipated, planned for, and wanted, and while they each mourn their loss in their own way, they would both agree that it was the best decision for them at the time.