If if if

Things are looking up. I cried yesterday because M came home and I was making chicken fajitas. He had told me on the phone we would make stir-fry for dinner. And I cried. And cried. And cried. Then I cried more because poor M was getting home from a terrible day at work at 7:30 pm to a crazy wife who was crying about the wrong chicken.

But then he laughed at me a little and said I was making him feel better because I was sobbing into his armpit.

The tide of emotions for Friday is starting to come in. Part of me thinks I should stay home from work. But won’t that just be worse? Sitting on my couch watching Ellen and crying? I could at least sit here and cry a little in the bathroom. As usual, I must add the side note that this is assuming everything will go well at the appointment on Thursday.

On that note, does anyone read Busted Babymaker? Back when she was waiting for her Toddle, she always said “if” and “maybe” and never “when.” I didn’t understand why she was so negative about her pregnancy. But here I am, doing the exact same thing. My loss is so different from hers, so much earlier and one baby. But I get it now. Even when I think about this pregnancy in my head, I have to say if. I can’t ever assume things will be ok. When I think about our son, I remember how I would talk about when Thanksgiving came and how we would have this little baby. Now I say that I hope I’ll still be pregnant at Thanksgiving so I can wear my belly band and have more room for mashed potatoes.

How can I function in the normal world? I cringe when people around me say when about my pregnancy. I have to correct them in my head. I can’t hear their positive voices. This weekend, my (wonderful, lovely, perfect, pretty) friend said something like, “This is something you can do to keep busy when you’re in labor.” And I said in my head, “Hopefully! Hopefully!” But, really, if she had said, “This is something you can do to keep busy if you ever get to the point where you’re in labor,” I would be crying and sad and hurt. So I need that positivity from the people around me. I won’t ever say when, but I need to hear it.

54 more hours. It feels weird to count down to something that could be devastating.