Redd regrets eating her placenta, and I regret reading this article, because, OH SWEET BABY JESUS! THIS REALLY HAPPENS! The only good thing here is that it gave The New York Times the opportunity to run the best headline ever.
Yeah, I know some animals eat their placentas. Some animals also eat their young and their own feces. (Our dog Fitz used to make frequent runs to the 24-hour cat-shit drive-through.) I remain unconvinced.
This is what a placenta might look like. And recipes!
If you want to nom nom nom your placenta, don’t let me stop you. Maybe future research will uncover hidden benefits. But my take on this sort of thing is that if your body gets rid of it naturally, you don’t need it back. That’s why I don’t suck on tampon lollipops.
Yeah, try to sleep with that image in your head.
My friend Saul and I visited the cemetery last Monday to note Dad’s one-year deathaversary. When we visit mom, we hang out under a nearby tree for several hours and make a picnic of it. But Dad was really inconsiderate and died in the middle of January, so he’s going to have to deal with us checking out the headstone for a while and then sitting in the car. Still, it was better than last year, when we buried him in the slush and sleet.
It’s hard to believe it’s been a whole year. At the risk of sounding like an asshole, I’ve always been less sad about his death than mom’s. His life felt done. It’s like finishing a great book that ends as it should. I’m sad that it’s over, but it was time for it to be over all the same.
Saul brought Mom and Dad a bottle of wine, and I let them have a little — in part because Dad loved to booze it and in part to celebrate with them. I wanted to let them know they were going to be grandparents again. Devon and I found out the previous week. I know they would have been excited, especially mom. My brother has two kids, but people who took in 350 foster kids would have gladly welcomed more. When Mom was in ICU, two months before she died, Devon and I told her we were getting married and that if we had a kid and it was a girl, we would name her Aurelia, after my mother’s mother. She cried.
So I poured some of the wine into the dirt and told Mom to go easy, because she’s a lightweight. I sat by the grave for a bit and talked to them about the future. Then I went home.
Two days later I miscarried. It wasn’t very painful and there’s wasn’t a lot of blood, and I’m fine.
Devon took Friday off and we spent a long weekend cooking and watching movies and playing video games. I drank the wine I couldn’t drink at the grave site. We lit the candle over Fitz’s tiny urn and enjoyed the amazing lamb and ratatouille Devon made, along with my cream of mushroom soup and vanilla-chocolate pudding.
A lot can happen in the first three months. We were aware I was pregnant for only 10 days. The embryo would have been the size of a lentil bean. But it was a wild 10 days. We’re not devastated, certainly not like we would be if one of you died. Sad and subdued is more like it. But we’re OK.