I’m in the first two-week-wait where we’ve ever had better than 50% odds, and I feel curiously flat. Just kind of living. Not good or bad. Light. Feeling sometimes like I might just float off into space, or settle down into the Right Now. Intellectually — and on some emotional levels — I know that what will be will be.
But there’s also an undercurrent of terrible anxiety, of post-traumatic stress, or girding myself to fall back into the black hole we so recently climbed out of. And the sadness of the fact that this whole pregnancy journey (whether I get pregnant now or next time or next time…) can never, ever be “innocent fun” for us. We know too much.
And wishing I could fully bond with these embryos after I already did that two times, and both times ended horribly. (“Only” a week-six miscarriage followed by a negative that meant our dreams of having a biological kid, and all of our savings, were gone. I’m well aware so many others have had it so much worse. But this was tough on us. And we’re still not anywhere near out of the woods, so it’s not like we’re breathing any sighs of relief yet.)
I suppose there’s less riding on this attempt, since we’ve already given up on biological kids and we have five more chances if this doesn’t work… but never again with these embryos, and never again in January 2017 (when I can be reasonably sure Trump won’t have taken my insurance away by the time the kids are born), and it’ll mean more travel, more separation from my husband, and maybe another couple thousand dollars — literally the last of what we have.
It’s just so exhausting to think about. So I’m not thinking much. I’m just… here. And what will be will be.
And I do love you two kids, even though you are so very tenuous.