The Unknown

While I’d love to say I am having a romantic Valentine’s Day, my husband hurt his back, so looks like “love central” is shut down for the night. Flight times TBA. Hopefully he’ll be healed soon. Momma needs some sugar.
Anyway, today I read or heard about miscarriage about 3 times. By the 3rd time, I had had enough and didn’t feel like talking about the subject. I just wanted to read fluffy trashy tabloid magazines and watch John Travolta taxi drive Kristie Alley to have her baby in “Look Who’s Talking.” I know, real deep activities.
It’s not that I am not incredibly grateful for what I have: I love my daughter and am so thrilled and blessed (yes, even liberals say “blessed” sometimes) to have her. She is our everything. The thing is, that miscarriage was a really sad experience. Nothing takes that sadness away totally. I have moved on, and was so grateful for my wonderful doodlebug, but the thought of possibly going through that again just irks me. Thinking about having another baby excites me, and scares the shit out of me also. I am afraid of what could happen. Afraid of loss, sickness, and disappointment. In my mind, pregnancy has been just a joy and a mindfuck–mindfuck from the loss and sickness, joy from the beautiful little happy bubba that I get to see every day!
I am also a self-proclaimed control freak. I hate not being able to control things. While there are some things I accept I can’t control, there are a whole vast of life activities and events that I wish I could choreograph. No wonder I am a writer: if things don’t go well, I can always write my way out of the situation/feelings.
I am certain I am not the only one who feels this way about an experience. While we can move on and accept certain events, I think it is normal to feel a sadness about what happened.
I am just glad I have my little doodle to embrace and love. She was worth the wait.


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