I have been one of those really obnoxious women who loves being pregnant (that is, when I can actually stay pregnant and those moments when I'm not pulling my hair out in anxiety). By the time each child has been born, I've forgotten the nausea that made me swear I would never do this again; the back aches that just never felt better; the inability to find a comfortable position to sleep in; the annoying need to pee every 10 minutes even though there is nothing left.
All of that has been overshadowed by the flicker of a heartbeat on that ultrasound machine; the imprint of a foot against my skin; feeling them dance to BB King or Cole Porter; feeling the swell of my abdomen as they take up more and more room.
None of that has ever bothered me.
It's the getting there that makes me unsuitable for human company.
Basically? The waiting? It sucketh. Badly. Eth.
Telling myself that it's no big deal, it'll happen, that's OK, I'm relaxed, it's no big deal? Not working. Lying to myself has never really worked.
I find myself analyzing every twinge and every little cramp. I look at the calendar in anticipation of when I could test because I'm certain that this is it!
And then I'm crushed when I find that the cycle is a bust. Or worse. It wasn't but it's not going to end well.
I miss those very young and naive days when I'd panic about being pregnant because I didn't want to be pregnant. I miss the shock of finding out I was pregnant with Girl and then the thrill of being certain that at the end, there would be a baby to take home.
I miss being blindly naive, stupid.
I do not wait well. I am unbearable in my wait.
For the sake of the Halloween candy that it this rate will never last until those costumed children start ringing our bell, pray that the wait ends quickly this month.