This sucks.

I miss you so much today.

I got diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes today, which doesn't surprise me. My pregnancy with your brother has been endlessly difficult; from Hyperemesis Gravidarum to early Braxton Hicks to the pain in my hips and back, not to even mention all the fear and pain and anxiety that he'd be with you instead of with us. That's still there actually.

I try so hard to be bright and cheery about it; a lot of the time I fool even myself. Maybe I'm not fooling myself; maybe most of the time I am that glowing, bright pregnant lady.

Today I just feel like I'm slumped. I want to be on the other end of this. I want to stop feeling nauseous, worried, fretful, aching, sore, tired...I don't want your brother to come early or anything, but I sure wouldn't be all that unhappy if I wasn't able to work anymore--at least then I'd be off my aching, miserable feet.

This is one of those days where I feel the unfairness of having to go through an entire second pregnancy. I should already be done with this. I should be holding you, soothing you while you're cutting teeth, seeing you laugh.

And I'm so scared, so almost paralyzingly afraid that we'll lose your brother even this late, both because I can't bear the thought of losing another son and because the thought of yet another pregnancy makes me feel beyond hopeless.

I wish I could hold you. I wish this was over so I could hold your brother.

I wish.

Dead Baby Cooties

I've been having a crying jag today. They don't happen very often anymore. Weeks at a time can go by, and they usually go as fast as they come. At least I had some warning this one was coming. The last big cry was when I showed Daddy the movie An American Tale. At the end, (and yes, Mommy is going to spoil the ending because you're a smart boy and you would figure it out in seconds) when the family is reunited, and they're hugging and crying and Mama Mousekewitz says "Oh my little boy, back from the dead?" Yeah. I kind of lost it. It was over in less than a minute, and then I felt like I'd been in a hit-and-run accident. I actually said "What the hell just happened to me?" to Daddy.

This one was gradual. I had a frustrating day at work--nothing important really, just stupid social stuff that I don't understand. A coworker shooting vile looks at me and snapping at me. She and another gossiping away and doing that kind of over-the-shoulder glances and smirks in my direction. No idea why, but most of the time the social situation there is pretty high-schoolish. And I was feeling irritated about that, because really? We just make coffee, there's no need for this absurd game-playing. And I was thinking about how, when one of them was pregnant (the one who has a baby 2 months younger than you would be) they were all extra-kind to her, going out of their way to ask how she was, etc. I didn't get included in a lot of that, but I shrugged it off as best I could. I'm not popular there, and I don't particularly care most of the time. Besides, she was much sicker than I was.

Now it's extremely awkward with most of them if I make reference to the new pregnancy. I know part of that is because I didn't act all excited when I told them--largely because I was vomiting constantly and generally would say outright "I'll be very excited when I stop barfing." And probably part of it is because I'm not as excited as they think I "should" be. Losing a baby (technically, two) kind of does that--I am cautious. And I don't even know if I can put on a carefree oh-boy-new-baby optimism, nor do I think I should just so that they approve of how I feel about my own fucking children.

I'm rambling about work. I hate it when I do that. But it was really bothering me (as it regularly does). And then said coworker came in, baby in tow, to pick something up. And brought the baby around back, where she was handed around gleefully. I have never felt more unwelcome in a circle. Not only did I not get a chance to hold the baby, if I came near her everyone got tense and weird about it. And when I cooed at her, there was a lot of "oh, you're scaring her, she's going to cry" going on. Because apparently I coo like pure evil. And the baby was whisked away immediately, lest I inflict my DeadBabyCooties all over her, I assume.

I know how bitter I sound. I am bitter. There is a lot of bad blood that I simply don't acknowledge. Because I'm "just here to work" and "do the job as best I can" and never, ever take part in the backstabbing bitchiness that's there. And it hurts to see that baby--see her living and thriving and being cooed over and fussed about and so on and so forth, when I can't even show a picture of you because people think it's "morbid" and "creepy." Their words, mind you. Not that I was offering to show them. Yes, and it was "crazy" that we had a memorial service for you.

Certainly, no one would have considered that about the least pleasant experience to be treated as if I were some kind of leper about the whole thing. Maybe I ought to sew a scarlet letter on my stupid apron. Warn the innocent, that sort of thing.

Anyway. I got home feeling in a funk about the whole thing, and eventually I just put on my Must Cry Now playlist and let it happen. It feels a little better now. I haven't been able to cry like that since I got pregnant again; every time I started to really cry I'd get nauseous and throw up. At least with the meds I can have this release.

I had meant to sit down and write about the back-and-forth feelings I've been having about this new baby and about you, but I guess that isn't really what I wanted to write about after all. I'm sure that will come in time. For now I think I better take my next dose of NoPukePills and have a snack.

The Waiting Game

I don't talk much about us trying again. Not here. It has felt...disrespectful? Disloyal? Not so much to talk about it or think about it--because really, it's in my thoughts damn near constantly, right next to you and I talk about it sort of obsessively. Luckily your daddy is both patient and adept at filtering out my monologue when it doesn't really matter if he's listening.

But this has sort have been my just-for-you place. Certainly I usually feel like no one here is reading it (Oh dear, is that blog-queen envy? Must we be a BNF in every fandom?). I don't really know why, because it isn't like I don't talk to you. But not the way I do here.

I'm rambling. I hate it when i do that.

The truth is the only thing I really want is to be pregnant again, and its damn near an obsession. I am very flip about it when I talk about it. "Maybe this month." "It'll happen, I'm not worried." "Fertility isn't our issue." And I know for so many reasons that I have absolutely no right to complain that I'm not pregnant yet. It has only been two cycles. I got pregnant on the first try twice. Granted, that didn't work out the way it was supposed to, but I know more than one woman struggling with infertility who would be grateful just to have had so much as a positive pregnancy test, let alone the precious weeks I had with you. I know that I am already incredibly lucky, even with the Ectrodactyly.

And its only a few weeks until the next chance to try (don't worry, I'll spare you any details of Mommy and Daddy's sex life). And another two weeks after that to wait to see if this one worked or not. And another month to see if it's alive enough to have a flicker of heart. And then holding our breath until week twelve, when they do another ultrasound to count the bones in the baby's arms and legs. Four more weeks after that to see if it has hands and feet and if the bones are all long the way they should be. And finally to twenty weeks, to count the fingers and toes. Not including the amnios, the quad-screens, and god knows what else.

At any point we could be back to zero.

And the "meaningful dates" keep slipping by. We conceived on your due date, the weekend of your "funeral." How perfect, how meaningful. Oh, wait. No. Nevermind.

But then, it was Testing Day on Christmas. I wrapped a pregnancy test and left one end open, all ready to pee on, do a silent happy dance over, seal up and stick in your Daddy's stocking. What a perfect way to tell him! Because really, it's the only gift we want (except he still wanted that map. He got the map). Oops. Scratch that.

But this time! This time was meant to be. It'd be the first baby conceived at Bitchmas. Made right in the middle of that circle of love and family.

You know. Or not.

And there are babies everywhere. I counted the pregnant bellies that came through my line at work. In one five-hour shift there were eight bellies.

I feel like I'm waiting for life to start again. We're in a stagnant place. Stalled.

Argh

Just argh.

Called to make an appointment with the Genetic Counselor. The same GC who hasn't called us since October. The same GC I've left three messages with this month. The woman I talked to promised she was pulling my chart and I'd get a call by today at 5. We shall see.

I have a handful of song lyrics and interesting quotes I want to share with you, but right now I'm so busy being angry and frustrated that all I can do is listen to sappy music (seriously, Evanescence? I know I can do better than this) and swear a lot.

Grrr.

More babies

More new babies, and none for us yet. Now there's a new baby cousin, and today I got to hear all about the new baby somebody's wife is laboring with now.

Joy.

And on top of it, somebody misunderstood my facebook post welcoming the new cousin and thought it was our baby, and congratulated me.

I am so burned out from a week of this. And still, I'm putting forth the effort to make sure my coworker's new-baby card gets signed by absolutely every single customer who might possibly want to sign it. Why? I don't know, because what I really want to do right now is break things and yell a lot.

My three-day weekend should help. Unless all the babies (and probably pregnant bellies) at the gathering we're going to this weekend makes it worse.

Don't really know how to deal with this. I'm just done with babies right now. At least, with other people's.