sueeeus

…sometimes it feels good to feel bad…

1. low grade nausea
2. fatigue
3. aching back and hips
4. heartburn
5. aching legs
6. burning breasts
7. leg cramps

I wasn’t going to say anything. I didn’t want to jinx anything. I’ve been repeating in my mind, like a mantra, over and over and over again. Whatever will be will be. Que sera sera. I’ve been trying, with effort of valiant proportion*, not to worry. Not to obsess. And yet, I can think of almost nothing else. Whatever will be will be. I wasn’t going to say anything. I was trying to wait.

And then I realized that holding back is acknowledging the fear, and I don’t want to be afraid. I’m not broadcasting to my family or in-the-flesh friends, because I’m just not quite ready for that. But to the blog world? This is my journal where I work out the issues of my heart.**

So I say that I don’t want to be afraid, but the simple action of typing out those words has raised them to the forefront of my mind and I realize, as the tears fall from my face, that I am, indeed, terrified. If a day goes by in which I don’t notice symptoms, my heart shudders. Whatever will be will be. Consoling myself. Preparing myself.

I think that things are going better this time. I feel it. I hope so. Oh GOD, I hope so.

I think I am about six weeks along.*** My first appointment isn’t until the 28th, and the first ultrasound probably won’t happen that day, so I have to wait for what feels like an eternity to see that beautiful white heartbeat. I’m praying for that beautiful white heartbeat and the sound of galloping horses.

Lucky Number Seven. This is my seventh pregnancy. I hope it ends well, with the birth of a healthy child.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

*I have my good friend Zoloft, a very helpful friend indeed, to thank for this.

**Narcissistic? A little. Or maybe a lot. But c’mon, it helps me, and I really do cherish the kindness that droppers by share.

***Which puts me right around 12-13 weeks for my trip to Australia. I’m still going. No matter what. I bought the ticket, and it’s non-refundable. I’m going.

I really enjoy watching the American Idol auditions. And not for sheer mockworthy entertainment, either. Although, if I were in another, unstabilized state of emotion, I just might viciously savor the large scale humiliation. It simply astounds me to see such displays of personal confidence from people of all shapes, sizes, and colors. These people have people who love them. They all have somebody behind them, loving them, encouraging them, believing in them. And I think that’s beautiful. I never felt like I had that kind of loving support, although, in retrospect, I was probably too busy seeing what I didn’t have to notice what I did have. Typical

I feel like such a voyeur, peeking into the lives of those who were showcased, yet I hungrily take it all in. A mother and daughter living in a studio apartment with two cats and a dog. A very, very, very large young girl, with an even larger mother who fiercely and proudly believes in her. There is so much love. A fluffy man with a nice smile, bold enough to wear the Carrie Fisher Jabba the Hut love slave outfit to the audition. So humiliating. He had such a sweet smile. He had to be a nice person. I felt sad for him.

All the rejection, all the tears. These people go in to the auditions with such high hopes, and they exit with their dreams shattered. Some of them are so hard on themselves. It breaks the heart. I remember that longing to fit in, to be accepted, to be loved by the masses. Those secret dreams of being famous. A model. An actor. An artist. A writer. A composer. A singer. A musician. Anything that would make the world love me.

It’s something, isn’t it, that it took over 40 years of life experience to gain the wisdom and self-assurance that there is no need for the world to love me. There is just the need for me to love me. So I see all these beautiful people, and I see they are surrounded by people who love them, and I feel sad that they just don’t quite love themselves enough. Because why else would they be there, if not seeking fame? And fame, once achieved? How thankful I am to be spared!