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I’ve started many new posts since my last one, and haven’t published any. Just don’t know what I wanna say. I’m annoyed with myself and am feeling out of sorts. It’s hard to write when I feel like this. Dr Jerry’s out of town this week, and that just pisses me off… how dare that man go on vacation when I need him?!

I’m a pill.

As a general rule, I’m a glass-half-empty kinda chick… Bobby’s glass is always overflowing, so somebody has to be realistic around here, right? But when does realism blur into negativism? When do I actually start doing myself a disservice by preparing for the “inevitable worst”?

I’ve justified my pessimism/realism with life events — Mama’s sickness, her eventual death, miscarriage #1, then miscarriage #2. I mean, I would be an idiot to think that things are going to work out smoothly & painlessly, right? But maybe I’m taking the easy way out — I’m choosing to be cynical & jaded because being hopeful makes me vulnerable.

At dinner a few nights ago, I asked Bobby if he really, completely believes that our next pregnancy has a chance of making it. His response: ABSOLUTELY.  And I realized that I didn’t. I’ve been mentally & emotionally preparing myself for a 3rd miscarriage, for a long, painful journey through infertility that may or may not end in a baby. So where’s the balance? I don’t want to be devastated, blindsided, incapacitated by another pregnancy loss. But I also don’t want my future to become a self-fulfilling prophesy — I think things are going to be hard and sucky, therefore they are.

Since that dinner, I’ve made a concerted effort to examine my thoughts rather than defaulting to what comes naturally — pessimism/realism. This is tied to my emotional eating as well… it’s so much freakin’ easier to down a candy bar or an entire pie than to actually THINK about what’s bothering me. Self-awareness and analysis is much more work than just existing.

Hello, understatement of the year.