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A(nother) pregnancy announcement at work this week, and I find that The Big Picture forces it’s way to the front of my mind. It’s daunting, to say the least.

I feel ok for a while, just plugging along. I’m officially full-time these days, which for me, is a big freakin’ deal. Haven’t been full-time since I ran screaming from my soul-crushing job in Jun-08. And I joined the choir… I feel really silly saying that. It just sounds so… churchy. Doesn’t it? I almost feel embarrassed, like I’m betraying my inner cynic. But I’m honestly enjoying it — I haven’t sang with a choir since undergrad, and I’m re-getting the hang of it. I’m 7 weeks into my weightwatching, and I’m determined to stick with it this time. Everything’s ok. Not big, flashy excitement, but ok. Right?

Then, another pregnancy announcement. Another birth of a healthy baby. Another progression of someone else, and it once again illuminates just how stagnant I am these days. What am I doing? Where am I going? Do I have a plan? Why are other people moving & I’m not? I feel the panic closing in, and my brain starts whirring and chattering… Sarah, the hell are you doing?! Why aren’t you trying to get pregnant? You’re 32-effing-years-old!! Your husband is sliding toward 40!! Come on, chop-chop, get with it! Oh, yousuckyousuckyousuckyousuckyousuck.

Sometimes I feel ok, calm, at peace with how things are. It’s not how I thought my life would be, but it’s ok. And then sometimes I feel panicky, so anxious I can barely breathe, like I need to run as fast as I can to catch up to everything’s that passing me by, slipping away from me. I like the peaceful moments. The panicky, anxiety-ridden moments? They’re hard to bounce back from. I feel worn down, like I can barely lift my head. If I’m not at work, I’m on the couch. The house is dirty, the dogs need to be bathed, the yard is neglected, my corner of the office is filled with unfinished projects. And still I sit, because it’s difficult & sometimes impossible to function through the weariness & sadness, the sheer feeling of futility, that follows those panicky, anxiety-ridden moments.

I had a thought last week, and almost simultaneously, Bobby voiced the same thought. If we had been able to successfully have a baby, we wouldn’t have been able to take care of Sue. My sisterchild. Do I think we lost our babies because of Sue’s situation? Of course not. That’s why I hate the trite, one-size-fits-all “everything happens for a reason.” It implies that the two things are related.  But.  I do think.. no, I know… that we wouldn’t have been able to play the same role with Sue if we were parenting an infant/toddler.

So this is me. This is me trying to make sense of things. This is me failing miserably.

I’ll be fine in a bit. It just takes a while to renegotiate my ok-ness with where I am.

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