It’s 2:15 and I’m awake. WIDE awake. I’m becoming a vampire (except I suck down wine instead of blood) – sleeping during the day, and up all night. It annoys the hell out of Bobby because he has to get up in the morning at a respectable time while I’m snoozing my unemployed day away. I can’t imagine why that would annoy him, since I was SO understanding when he didn’t have a job. Yeah, not so much.
Kept Maggie this evening while Jen & Tom went to home group. She’s saying my name now, and it’s really quite touching – sounds something like “Seh-zah.” She starts chanting it as soon as she spots our house. Makes me feel all approved by the 14-month-old, and all.
I’ve become somewhat immune to baby-envy for the last month or so. All I’ve had to do is think about Miscarriage x2, and I involuntarily twitch and turn my thoughts to non-baby-related things. But this evening was different… maybe because we’re a couple of months out? I looked at her little sweet perfect face, and yearned for a baby. “Yearned” is a really dramatic word, I know – but trust me, it was bonafide yearning. I’m terrified of trying again. I wonder, am I being irresponsible if I brogue into a 3rd pregnancy without having an RE identify the problem? Isn’t that, in effect, just begging for another “spontaneous abortion”? Bobby has this special knack of oversimplifying – basically, he’s decided that both miscarriages can be attributed to stress, and the third time’s the charm. Ah, if only I felt so confident.
And it’s not quite so simple as just “going to the RE.” The freakin’ insurance doesn’t pay for infertility crap, so it would be 100% out-of-pocket. Ouch. Not to “poor-mouth” (just a little Southern phrase there), but we’re not in the financial position to shell out $250 per hr for a guy to tell us…. I dunno, whatever he would tell us. Bobby’s gallbladder, which we’ve dubbed Gary, is acting up regularly, and is begging to be removed. Kicking Gary’s ass out is more important in the short-term than an RE appt, especially since we had made a pact to wait until 2009 to get back on the TTC wagon. Every meal has become an ordeal for Bobby lately… the 3% output (as opposed to the preferred 35% output of normal gallbladders) is causing him no small amount of discomfort.
I had these ideals about being 30 years old. I thought that I would have everything figured out by then…. or a good portion of it, at least. And kids? Oh yeah, at age 30, I would already have my first one completed with plans for a second. Funny (NOT haha) how things work out. I’ll be 31 in 46 days. That’s 1.5 months. And we’re banking nada kiddos + 2 miscarriages at this point. My batting (or birthing) average isn’t looking so good. What is WRONG with me? I feel like a failed woman…. kinda like a fallen woman, but worse because mine was involuntary. I just had a vision of Hester Prynne from “The Scarlet Letter.” Instead of the scarlet “A” for adulterer, I could wear the scarlet “FU” for f-ed up.
On to my next thought. Sue’s flying to Baltimore to visit a boy from Thursday to Sunday. This is a guy she met at Clemson, who’s now working for a big-deal company. Trust me, I don’t feel that this company would hire just anybody, which is somewhat reassuring to me. But still, my very overactive imagination is presenting all sorts of things that could go wrong with this scenario. What if he’s a serial killer? What if he’s a rapist? What if she falls in love with him and doesn’t want to go to the College of Charleston after all this pain and agony with her student loans? What if she sleeps with him (because you KNOW she’s gonna sleep with him… I mean, come on, I wasn’t born yesterday) and gets all emotionally attached and weird and unfocused? There are countless scenarios that I’ve conjured up. She laughed like I was kidding when I told her that I wanted his full name, address, date of birth, social security number, and two contact numbers. Yeah, um, not kidding. I need to have adequate information to give to the police in the event that I have to report her missing. Mama would so NOT be a fan of this. I can’t believe that I’m condoning it. Yet, she’s adult. I’m not her mother. She’s responsible for herself and her decisions and where she goes and who she sleeps with when she gets there. I’m just gonna do the best I can to…. well, do the best I can.
Mmk, my glass of wine and the fact that it’s now 3:30ish is starting to mean something… am getting sleepy.