I turned 35 earlier this week. I'm not usually a big fan of my birthday. Who knows why? What should be a special day to celebrate my life and pamper myself with a little extra care and attention so often turns into a one-woman pity party. I suppose deep down I'm still too mad at myself for the past two miscarriages to extend myself any grace or kindness - even on my birthday.
I made a concerted effort not to spend the day that way. After dropping C at school I treated myself to a smoothie that was prepared by someone other than myself and way too expensive. I had my laptop with me and it was my intention to spend the morning working from either Whole Foods or the smoothie place, but I just couldn't seem to get comfortable. I ended up heading home instead, and after venting my true birthday angst to my best friend over the phone I curled into a ball on my couch and binge-watched MTV soap operas.
It wasn't fun, or relaxing, or in the least bit enjoyable, but I just couldn't seem to muster the energy for anything else. I should have been writing my book. I wanted to clean the house. I thought about visiting my sister and her new baby.
Instead I lay there staring at my iPad watching fictitious teenagers make predictably questionable decisions.
Eventually Scott came home and peeled me off of the couch to go get C from school. We went to the library, and then for ice cream. It was the nicest part of the day and I'm always amazed at how warm and fuzzy it feels to just be together doing something normal.
The rest of the week I've been slow to start, but I'm managing maybe just a little better. I'm off the couch anyway. I've also started searching for a new psychologist. Mine retired about a year and a half ago - right before I got pregnant that first time after having C. It's about time that I found someone new and started getting my head back together.
I'm in such a weird place right now. I'm actively trying to get pregnant because I feel like getting back in the game is the best way for me to move forward.If we're going to keep doing this than let's just do it, right? At the same time I'm dealing with feelings of depression that are pretty much to be expected for someone who just experienced a loss, and I'm experiencing a fair amount of fear and anxiety over the prospect of success.
I want another baby and I know that getting pregnant is the first, essential step. At the same time I'm scared to get pregnant because it means having to go through all of the anxiety and worry that I know will be there from day 1. It's as if my feelings of hope and apprehension are so equal that I'm simply left numb.
I'm dreading the day I have to take a pregnancy test because I know that I don't get to enjoy that moment - even if it's positive. I keep wondering at what point would I ever be able to breath again? Not at 12 weeks, the start of the second trimester. That's when I lost Twoleo. Then when? How will I be able to watch a baby on the ultrasound screen and live with the knowledge that this very real little person might still not make it? How do I do that?
On one hand I feel like I need to just suck it up, square my shoulders and force myself to stay positive. Mothers and babies have overcome worse odds than mine. We can do this. People do this.
On the other hand I feel like I just don't really want to do this anymore. I want another baby, but I don't know if I want to have one this way. Part of me wishes we could skip all this and go right to the part where we choose adoption. That road won't be an easy one for us either, but it's something I've always wanted to do, and it looks better and better the more I think about the reality of getting pregnant again.
And then there's the voice that chastises me for letting all of this take over my life when I have one beautiful little boy already. I have everything I ever wanted right here. Maybe I should just let this go and enjoy what's already been given to me.