Yelling at the Wall.
It’s a term I use quite often, for those moments when there’s no one person at fault for the way things are, but you are still frustrated as heck at life. I find that having a safe place to vent your frustrations and feelings is extremely beneficial, and 100% therapeutic. So for today’s (premiere) installment of Yelling at the Wall, I submit this subject.
I really really really hate my uterus at the moment.
2 weeks ago we got the positive tests. It was confirmed at the doctor’s office- we were pregnant again. After the last loss in March, we had been trying for the last 3 months, and finally it happened again. This time, instead of spreading it like wildfire from the excitement, we stayed cautiously optimistic, keeping the news on the quiet side. Last Monday, things looked great, and on Wednesday I had an awesome 35th birthday, enjoying my extreme nausea, sore boobs and total exhaustion with glee. Cause this is what we wanted.
But by Saturday, my obsessive nature of peeing daily onto cheapie pregnancy tests clued me in- the positive lines I took so much joy in seeing were getting fainter and fainter.
So when I got my weekly bloodwork yesterday, it came as no surprise that the pregnancy was ending.
Which is why today I’m yelling at the wall.
This sucks. I’m 2 for 2, and it hurts. And it’s NOT FAIR.
I’ve got lots of opinions on this subject. Seriously. But mostly, today, I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. Trying to cope when life hands me a flaming bag of crap to deal with.
I’m supposed to be this pillar of strength- I am always dealing with adversity in a chipper positive way. But I’m not gonna lie about it- I’m not feeling chipper or positive today. I’m just bummed out and trying not to land on the floor in a pile of tears. Which is actually a good thing. I’m dealing with the loss in the best way I can.
But the thing that hurts me beyond the actual loss we are experiencing is this: I wonder when I’ll be able to feel joy about being pregnant again. This time, being cautiously optimistic, I never really dared to believe that it would stick. So did I shoot myself in the foot because I didn’t believe and get all excited? Next time, how long will it take me to get excited about being pregnant? Will I be walking around at 9 months and counting still denying the truth and expressing “I think I might be pregnant, but we aren’t sure yet” to strangers who ask me how far along I am? Why does it feel like with every loss and hurt I am losing the joy of when it will actually come to pass?
Because I know it will. I have no problem GETTING pregnant. I just have a problem STAYING pregnant.
Plus, now I’m coming off the progesterone supplements, and that just sucks major lollipops. Especially cause I’m all bloaty and now weigh more than I should. Grrr.
So here I am, yelling at the wall.
Being mad and frustrated, hurt and broken.
There’s no real answer or point to all of this. There’s no person to blame, there’s no reason. It’s just life. Well, or lack thereof in this particular case.
This is the reality of being a human who dares to try things. Sometimes they work, and sometimes they don’t. Ultimately if we want more for our lives, we have to be willing to do that 2 steps forward 1 step back dance I’m getting so good at.
I’m taking a couple days for myself, to just hurt and heal. To squeeze the kids I have presently, and try to make as many healthy choices as I can. And make good mental choices- Like giving myself permission to be sad for a while, and yelling at walls.
And I’m thinking I’ll schedule a massage for myself next week.
Just because that makes it less unfair.
Not really, but that’s what I’m going to tell myself…