It’s a bad day on the baby front. We spent yesterday evening in the company of some friends who were last here about a year ago, having just met each other. This time they were chatting while absent-mindedly burping their one-month-old daughter (described as a “slight hiccup” in their plans). The dad, a college buddy of my husband’s, kept talking about mortality and being an old dad and what he’s doing to promote longevity now that he has a kid in his twilight years.
None of these things was easy for me. Then H2 got her period. I was wrong. This was not her time. Her time may never come. It is, in fact, possible that it will never come.
Then I googled early menopause and realized for the first time that I am at an extremely high risk of premature menopause whether or not I ever test positive for this Fragile X business. I’m 34. My mom hit menopause at 36. I feel like I’ve mentioned this before.
This seems like something I really should have known and planned for, even without the endometriosis, even without my body inexplicably offing my offspring. Just feels like too many things. I’m losing steam.
I was on a really good streak this week, too. All productive and hopeful. Purging and organizing my closet. Scrubbing our tiny outdoor balcony and planting fresh herbs. Juicing like a mofo. Cycling, swimming, and pilates-ing it up. Climbing on 3rd story ledges to clean hereforeto unreached outside windows. Researching house projects that I’ve been unwilling to consider since The Dread Kitchen Reno of 2011. Making awesome fajitas for people. Passing my most recent certification and knocking out work stuff. Generally feeling more up and together than I have in a while.
But today I felt all weepy and losery and unable to focus. In my days of youth, I was pretty good at just throwing unknowns into the “God will take care of it” category and trusting him with it. I could (more or less) stop obsessing about hypotheticals because God was totally on it. And it really felt like he was. I know that faith is supposed to be a thing that exists independently of circumstances – otherwise it would be mere observation – but I feel like my trust has been breached by the dissonant clash of circumstances against what I’ve believed to be promises, what I’ve expected to happen, what I’ve hoped for, what I’ve prayed for, what I’ve put myself out there for. And much as I know you’re supposed to hang on in these times, that these are the times when it really, really matters that you hang on, I find myself questioning the whole thing. And it’s shallow, I know, since if I turned up pregnant in a couple weeks, I’d mos def ascribe it to divine intervention. So there’s a li’l hypocrisy and dissonance for you.