CD9 It can wait

September 13, 2011

I've been trying not to think too much about our failure to conceive or the whole process in general. While (normally) anticipation is half the fun, when it comes to trying to conceive, this stretch of time just feels like one big annoying failure.

Logical Side of Brain says: It can wait. We don't need a baby immediately 9 months from now. It can WAIT.

I love being able to focus completely on Fletcher and it's going to break my heart the first time he realizes that he has to share his parents. It's hard enough keeping one safe and fed and clean and happy. How are we going to do two at the same time?

It can WAIT.

I can't remember getting 8 hours of sleep in one night. Maybe six months ago I managed? I don't know. I can't remember not feeling exhausted. And someday, when there is a toddler and a newborn, I'll have even less sleep.

It can WAIT.

Yet...

Stupid Side of Brain says: Baby! I want a baby! And two weeks from now, I'm going to use up a dozen pregnancy tests and get upset when each damn one is negative.

This really should be more fun.

8DPO train ride

August 8, 2011

I'm obsessing again, but I hate not knowing. Am I going to be the mother of two? Am I going to change my son into an older brother? What will the answer be when the wait is over?

A few days. A set number of hours. Stretches of time. Minutes, all in a row. Barely, barely ticking forward.

I'm on a slow moving train and each bump of the track is the next second, and the next, and I'm watching out the window, analyzing every tree, every patch of grass, in case it's a sign of where this train is going.

It breaks my heart to exit the train and be right back where I started before the 28-day trip.

I think we did it, this time. I think we're going to be pregnant. I think April 2012 is going to be the month our family grows once again. Magic.

Is it a good sign that I feel so confident? Or is it horrible what I'm doing to myself, holding onto this hope? I vacillate between.

From Backwards by Christina Perri

Take me backwards, turn me around.
Cannot find my balance on the ground,
This world's too heavy
For a feather falling quickly.

And I wrote you a story,
But I'm afraid of how it ends,
And all my friends are doing well,
And I'm still on the mend.

I'm gonna lay back down,
Hope the wind takes me around.
I gotta find some courage in this town,

'Cause nobody's going to save
Somebody who won't change,
I try to be brave.

And nothing's coming easy, and all at once,
I feel a little queasy.
Oh, but if your love's my remedy,
Won't you please come and be with me?

38w 4d wait

Last night was a milestone of sorts, if you can count such things as milestones. It was the first time I felt I've reached the stage that (dictated by common sense) every pregnant woman must reach – the stage of major discomfort.

I am really, mercilessly, exhaustively uncomfortable. Whether sitting, standing, walking, doing stairs, carrying something, trying to sleep, bending down, using the restroom, cooking, petting the cats, attempting to get out of bed... I'm just plain uncomfortable and tired.

And it's not merely physical. I'm tired of my brain, of thinking about labor and wishing for labor and being scared of labor. My dad asked me last night if I was starting to get scared, and I didn't bother sugarcoating the truth when I blurted, "Yes." So many aspects of this moment and the next moment and the moment after that are bone-deep scary.

Still, I want it – I want to be in the throes of the main event and the euphoria that comes after. Of all the things to be scared of, and there are many, the biggest fear is something will go wrong with the baby. The second biggest? The wait.

I can't stand the suspense, and I can't stop the thoughts that swirl around and through every nuance of this situation. Why does it matter whether the baby comes tonight or in three weeks? Why does it matter if my body does what it's supposed to do or if I have to be induced?

I'm stunned by the similarities between the very beginning of pregnancy and the very end. Could I be pregnant? vs. Could I be in labor? ... When will I get a positive test? vs. When will I hold our baby? ... What can I do to make pregnancy happen? vs. What can I do to make labor happen? ... What if I can't get pregnant naturally? vs. What if I can't go into labor naturally? Both processes are long long long and exhausting. This one just has the added fun of the physically uncomfortable stage.

A month before we began trying to conceive, I wrote something about my frustration, wishing we could get things started. I didn't imagine, at the time, how much it would apply to me 18 or so months later.

In the Wait

In the wait
as if perched on a branch
wings trapped to my sides
wishing one swift wind
would carry me
into my life
unnaturally

On the upside... Hello, single digits countdown!

3DPO wait

Three days post ovulation, and we're back to waiting. Will it happen this month? Would I rather become pregnant and lose it again, or (option two) have nothing happen at all?

Even after all the pain and depression, I would go with the first. It would be something, progress. A reason to seek help and find success that much faster.

I'm scared to consider option three. Not because it's too frightening, but because it's too wanted. A lasting pregnancy, a healthy baby.

I'm irritated with everyone today. I wish I wasn't. I'm taking it out on Andy when he's the one person I should be holding onto with both hands. Losing him is unthinkable. Why do holidays bring out the worst in me? It's Labor Day; I should be happy I have a day off right now. But I have a million things to do and a headache the size of Montana and no motivation for any of it. I've never been a huge homemaker, but I feel more tired than usual. That's been a running theme here, I know.

Andy says I'm being difficult but he still loves me. I'm grateful for what I have. I'll be better, as better as I can be.

To my friends who have offered support, thank you. It helps more than I can put into words.

From "Wait" by Sarah McLachlan...

Pressed up against the glass
I found myself wanting sympathy
But to be consumed again, oh I know,
Would be the death of me
And there is a love that's inherently given
A kind of blindness offered to appease
And in that light of forbidden joy, oh I know,
I won't receive it

When all we wanted was the dream
To have and to hold that precious little thing
Like every generation yields
The newborn hope unjaded by their years

You know if I leave you now
It doesn't mean that I love you any less
It's just the state I'm in
I can't be good to anyone else like this