I’m not sure I can handle this.
Yet again I’m not pregnant. I know I won’t be pregnant, ever. But why must I be reminded so painfully every month. And for about a week, I have no good emotions. I waver between exhausted and angry to scared and sad.
We met with our social worker on Saturday. We filled her on the entire story with S. We had told her little bits and pieces, but over mega-muffins at a breakfast joint we filled her in on everything. She says everything sounds good and she, as a social worker, is confident this match will result in a son for us.
Easy for her to say.
Actually, it probably isn’t easy for her to say, but compared to some of her other families, our situation is golden. Apparently she has families dealing with some seriously nutso things.
And Keith thought for sure hearing her say that she’s confident in this match would make me feel better.
But not so much.
I’m terrified. I’m hoping it’s becase it’s girl week, but…I’m terrified. I’m trying so hard to be upbeat, optimistic, excited about my baby shower this Saturday. I’ve even started buying baby things. Granted, a package of baby wipes probably isn’t a huge accomplishment, and I hear they’re incredibly useful in many things, but…for me…to even wander into the baby section at the store and buy a container???? Huge.
Last week I bought three onesies and a baseball cap for Scooter.
But I’m afraid to wash them…to remove the tags…to really enjoy this. I’m just scared.
I hate roller coasters.
I want to get off now, please.
I’m not sure I’ve got 9 weeks and 4 days left in me – let alone 48-72 hours of the emotional hospital time.
But it’s not like I have a choice. What if I can’t do this? Well…tough cookies, Rachel. Suck it up. You’re doing it.