Lately this blog has been a bit of a snore – heck, I’m the first to admit it. And I’ve been trying to figure out what my problem is. And I believe it’s this – I feel bad.
As thrilled as I am to be here – I haven’t quite come to terms with leaving ‘trying to get pregnant’ and all the ups and downs and heartache. For one, I’m looking for disaster at every turn thinking that this twinge or that pinch is the beginning of the end and what a sad sop I’ll look like after gushing all these months about the miracle and the joy only to be taken down – lower than I was before.
And then there’s all the bad news. I’m having a really hard time with all the bad news. I realize the weepyness isn’t helping. But I have so many friends in real life and folk here on the internet who are sharing stories of heartbreak and loss and grief and I don’t know why this story – my story with Bubble – continues to move along, days and weeks and milestones getting ticked off, while others have veered off to other paths paved with tears. Why’d I get so lucky?
Did I? Will my luck run out?
Infertility is so cruel in it’s ability to keep hold of you no matter what.
I love the stories, I read the journeys, I hope with all hope that no one has to feel pain or sadness or loss. I love celebrating the successes and I adore getting to know someone better, one post at a time.
But I feel a bit like slinking in the background. Like somehow I got the prize without having to go through all the stages of the game.
Like I cheated.