I find blogs all about miscarriage, or death, or injury, or pain, and I read them and I cry and I cry and I cry until I get sick and I throw up.
I get angry over stupid things like the fact that we have no salsa in our house when I need some for N's lunch or that I wanted to use the word mad instead of angry and it made me think of the number of times I have to correct myself daily about the correct word to use and how I fear that I'm ruining N's chances of going to a good college because I'm teaching him the incorrect meaning to words.
I blow my nose in the shower and I nearly faint at the amount of blood that comes out. Ugh, pregnancy nose bleeds.
I make myself chocolate chip cookies at eleven at night and then get bitter that they cause me heartburn.
I refuse to talk to my doctor about my anxiety, insomnia, or general fear of giving birth or having a C-section.
I spend a great part of every day hating pregnancy and then worrying that I'm ruining this baby's life.
I wonder if people hate me because I hate pregnancy.
I crave the moment I have the baby in my arms, but fear the exhaustion that will come with it.
I'm nearing the third trimester (only one more week!), which was absolutely the hardest one last time. In approximately three months, I'll be posting pictures of a newborn and telling you all about how I tried to punch someone at a hospital to get out of getting an IV. (Okay, maybe, maybe not, but I wouldn't put it past me.) I'll be gushing about a baby and thinking that the picture I have of N holding him or her will be the best thing ever. I will be cradling N in my arms in a hospital bed to assure him that I love him so so much. I will be thinking "At least that's over" when really it will be more like "Well, this is just beginning."
And now, so you can all be as sad as I am, go read Posie Gets Cozy's story of a failed adoption attempt. It is beautiful writing that will make you weep.