Here's the thing. I'm finally with child, and pretty stoked about it. Except for one thing. I am clearly permanently scarred. Scarred from years of bad news, scarred from years of all of blog friends' bad news, and scarred from a relatively new-found distrust in my body and its ability to do the right thing.
This was a rough week in my blog circle. Two of my almost cycle buddies and favorite blog friends, Amanda and Risa both suffered losses. Not that it ever escaped my mind, but their losses hit me hard. They reminded me that life is not fair, that pregnancy can be here one moment and gone the next, and most of all, that just because you deserve a happy ending you aren't always guaranteed one. At least not right now.
I'm scarred from years of infertility and I'm sad for what we as a community have to endure time after time.
I'm also scared. Like really scared. I don't know where this journey is going to take me, but I hope that in time (if I'm lucky enough to get it) I can learn to do more than survive this pregnancy, always holding my breath and bracing myself for the worst. I would like to enjoy and thrive in every moment, but I'm just too darned scared to do it. I feel like every moment I enjoy and savor is one more memory that I'll have to endure later if anything goes wrong.
I'm scared to trust in my body and scared to rejoice in good news, because often times good news is followed by the heartbreaking bad.
