This past weekend, we got our answer, and it wasn’t what we wanted. I had a good cry in Philip’s arms (he was so very tender and comforting), felt better, then had another breakdown later in the day.
Later, reflecting on how upset I got, I came to two conclusions. 1. I must actually really want a baby, or else I wouldn’t have had such a guttural reaction of disappointment when that wasn’t the outcome. 2. I cannot continue to get this upset every month or I will give my self an aneurism.
It is a relief to have an answer and know how to feel. For about 10 days I thought I could ovulate at any moment, and then for 14 I had to wonder if we had succeeded — the longest two weeks of my life, it felt. I vacillated manically between wild hope/excitement and preparing myself for the worst. Not knowing is crazy-making, so now I feel like a normal person again. I am not pregnant; that makes me sad; okay, back to everyday life; time to try again.
I’ve also been trying to delight in the simple pleasures in which I’m allowed to indulge as a non-pregnant woman: wine, caffeine, soft cheese. This weekend at my parents’ house, I can soak in their hot tub, and I can jog around the neighborhood without fretting that I’m going to overdo it and overheat myself. Of course, I had to mourn the loss of my fantasy of announcing to my loved ones this weekend that the family was about to expand, but at least when we visit New Glarus Brewing Co. tomorrow, I can freely sample all their fruit beers.
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