(Incomplete post begun 3 nights ago).
WARNING: Placenta Talk Zone ahead
Placenta talk is what my husband calls it when I start talking about birthy stuff. Obviously, as a doula this happens a lot. But right now I am not in doula mode. I feel like I am plucking petals from a daisy, but instead of he loves me, he loves me not, it's "am I pregnant, am I not?"
I do a roving check of the ol' bod. Nausea, check. Heartburn, check. Tender bits, check. Belly... check, I think. It is getting bigger, but maybe a little to fast. I know too much about pregnancy, and have had too many problems with prior pregnancies. Yesterday Adam asked me how many kids we would have in our family "if" they were all born. Seven.
I am 10 weeks now, right in the middle of the woods.
(Three days later)
In my lifetime, I have lost the following:
4 sets of keys
1 cell phone
contact with several good friends
about 40 pounds of hair
my car (almost every time I go to Walmart)
my temper (1-20 times per week)
I don't know if I want to write about this, but here I am doing it. I don't even know how. I just feel like I have to acknowledge it somehow.
I have officially fallen into a "category". Secondary Recurrent Infertility (My apologies to my one male reader. Sorry, Dave, more placenta talk.).
It happened yesterday. We just had 3 more weeks till we would be out of the woods. I am in a numb place. It is surreal, like opening your eyes underwater and seeing people standing above. Everything is muffled. I only feel what has happened when I see someone looking sad at me. Then the tears come. No off switch. So I am not looking at people.
I had to hurt my sweet kids by telling them we weren't going to have a baby after all. "Why did you tell me that?" Ellie demanded. "Why didn't you only tell the grown ups?" Adam beat the crap out of our mulberry tree with a stick. I have never seen him act like that before.
I am seeing my husband suffer, and so I want to be brave so that he won't feel worse. I am not brave.
My friends are speechless, sad, want to help. I have no words to comfort them.
My aunt told me "...four miscarriages is enough. Maybe you need to just focus on the children you have." Guy wants to punch the next person that says that.
The doctor's office won't return my call. My body feels broken. I can't fix this.
I find that the shower is a pretty good crying place. While there, a thought floated through my head. "It's easy to obey when it's easy. Can you obey when it's hard?"
I usually don't have a hard time obeying God's rules. Smoking? Nope. Drinking? Nope. Never had sticky fingers, never cut class. It has been kind of easy for me to walk dead center down the straight and narrow for the big important stuff, and most of the little stuff. But can I obey this? Can I stay faithful? Can I endure to the end?
Would someone please point out the exit? We thought we were almost out of the woods, but I think we got lost in here.
Photo taken by my sweet neighbor, Shallon Elliott, 2008.