I think I am working through some internal turmoil right now.
Every now and then - at both predictable and unpredictable moments - I discover that I am a walking ball of fear and anxiety. Acupuncture and massages be damned, I can't shake the feelings of dread.
This weekend - Sunday the 26th to be precise - will mark the estimated due date of my last chromosomally doomed baby. And this morning I made the terrible mistake of taking another home pregnancy test - the stark white negative was a smack in the face. Talk about ruining your day in a totally avoidable manner.
I turn 40 in two months, and it is really hitting me hard that I am now so much older than I was when I embarked on trying to bring a second child into our home. And to top it off, I am now looking pretty damned infertile. This was our 7th continuous cycle of trying to conceive since my last lost. We can't blame any extraneous factors either. Our timing was impeccable. The Clomid did it's job, I definitely ovulated. But none of that means much at my age. I have joined the ranks of the women who desperately want to get pregnant and can't.
The other day Niblet started talking to me about how she would like to wait in the hospital waiting room with Daddy when I am having another baby. I think she got the idea from this book which has such a waiting room scene at the end. My heart is breaking.
My morning drive is now characterized by my recitation of affirmations: I have a beautiful daughter. I have a loving husband. I have a good, stable job. I have a lovely roof over my head. Two living parents. I need not feel so keenly what I lack.
And then my mind takes a more dangerous turn. What happens if I get that elusive BFP? Am I just kidding myself? Can I survive another miscarriage?