sueeeus

A cautionary note.  The following post is most likely going to contain a plethora of Too Much Information (TMI).  Those with aversions to –or a low threshold for– TMI, run along now, and thank you for visiting. 

Recently a certain someone postulated as to the reason for clumsiness and shattering of dishes and whatnot.  Okay, it was Miscellania.  I loved the theory, but considered it implausible.  However.  In a sleepy stupor in the early morn, I fumbled in the cabinet for a strip and a cup, going through the motions that I’ve gone through a gazillion times before.  I stared at the strip, bracing myself for the normal disappointment that I always feel, no matter how often I’ve convinced myself beforehand that I would not (be disappointed).  Only this time   Two lines.   I rubbed my eyes and shook the strip and stared at it closely, just to be sure.  Then  hurried to show Mr. Gadget.  My stoic man.  (I know he’s pleased.  He’s just not the most expressive of individuals.  Unless gadgets are involved, of course.)   I don’t even know if I emptied the cup, washed it out, and put it away.  (I hope so.)

And so begins a new chapter.  Moments of paranoia interspersed with moments of hope and elation.  Minutes, days, weeks, months.  Already, this day, the paranoia sets in.  I have a headache.  The kind I get when it’s that time.  I’m no stranger to miscarriage, but oh, how I want this to take!  I know better than to get overly excited at so early a stage, but  how can I help myself

This is yet another nearly immaculate conception.  Just like the last one.  In which I got my Boo Boy.  I have one of those cycles that moves to the beat of its own drummer.  Every now and then.  As it sees fit.  As to the presence of ova   Another matter entirely.  Add to that a near absence of folk dancing.  The odds!  They must be staggering!  Not that I’m complaining!  I’m not.  I’m not!  (But I was, and have been, off and on, for some time.)  Poor Mr. Gadget.  I’ve been known to be so frustrated with him, at him, in times past.  How hopeless and helpless I’ve felt at times recently, knowing the odds that we have to work with, and feeling powerless to enable an outcome, compounded with a perceived lack of interest on his part in my hopes and dreams, all being drowned by the deafening sound of my biological clock relentlessly ticking away.  My stoic man.  Life can be such a rollercoaster, and finding synchronicity is beyond me, at times.

A cacophony of thoughts.

Can I finish that bottle of wine   Okay, I won’t be buying any more, but can I have that last glass   In America, most would say NO!  In Europe, they may say Oui.  What to do, what to do.

Headache.  Panic.  Oh Lord, please don’t let this one go.  I don’t want to miscarry.

Calm.  I know you’re in there, safe and sound, deep inside me, protected.  Nothing can hurt you and you are fine and well.

Reason.  Ahh, this explains much.  The dizziness.  The clumsiness.  The shortness of breath.  Anxiety.  Fatigue.  All things that I live with, more or less, but lately more.  Enough so as to make me notice that it’s more than the usual.

Wonder.  Are you a boy or a girl   Will you look like me or your dad   Will you be a giant like your brother   Will you be petite   Will I be able to deliver you the natural way   Or will I need to have another C-section   Will you be healthy and whole   Please be healthy and whole.  Will you latch and breastfeed, or will you be like your brother   I hope you will take to the breast.  I hope you develop perfectly.  I hope you stay.  Will I develop gestational diabetes again   Or can I avoid it

Is this for real   Oh please.  Please!  Let it be real.

I know the exact date.  You know.  That date.  The date when people engage in a folk dance.  It was October 25th.  Of course, the actual meeting could have taken place any time between then and the 27th.  Oh, the 27th.  That was a momentous day.  On that day, I sobbed for hours.  On that day, I remembered my brother.  On that day, my brother’s first child miscarried the one that would have been her second child.  It was a momentous day, and it just might have been your first day.

I want to tell my sister.  My sweet sissy who wants desperately to be a mother and faces challenges as daunting or even more so than mine.  We are eight years apart, so her clock isn’t clanging quite as loudly as mine.  She will be so happy for me, but she might be sad as well.  I know.  I go through this time and again.  As elated as I am for others who share this joyous news when it’s their turn to share, each tiding only brings to focus the glaring lack of fruition in my own sphere of life.  So I know.  I don’t want her to feel bad, but she probably won’t be able to help it.

This blog is going to morph into a Babeeus blog, the Harmony blog.  It may become tiresome to read, but it will be about things that matter to me.  Hopefully, the journey will be joyful.

I’m a bit afraid to go home and retest tomorrow.  What if I wake up and this was all a dream   A figment of my overly active and reactive imagination   Paranoia returns.

It’s exhausting.  But good!