Oh, the dreaded waiting. I’d nearly forgotten about the waiting. We’re about a week and a half into our first post-baby tww, and I’ve done really well up until…well, now. Now it’s harder not to scrutinize and speculate. Not to test. I don’t feel particularly pregnant, but I have to remind myself that that means nothing. There’s no way to know. The chances of a first-try hit are fairly low, but I’m already over waiting. So very, very much waiting, and here we are at exactly the same stage we were at last Christmas….waiting to test.
We’ve embraced Christmas, at the last minute. One thing that I’m learning is that waiting to feel 100% better before rejoining the world is a mistake. If I waited until I didn’t feel sad, ever, we wouldn’t celebrate anything at all for a long, long time. We wouldn’t try to conceive again. Wouldn’t give ourselves the chance to find joy.
The holidays are here, and there is much that I’m grateful for. We’re just peering out from under one of the worst ice storms in local history, and unlike about 300 000 of our fellow Torontonians, we have both light and heat. We dug in.
I wish that I’d taken a photo, but my wife baked up a storm. We watched Muppet Family Christmas (the best one, the one where all the Muppets, plus the Sesame Street gang, plus the Fraggles, all spend Christmas at Fozzie’s mother’s farmhouse and the Swedish Chef wants to cook Big Bird in lieu of a turkey). We had pancakes for dinner.
And this too:
We have each other, we have wonderful friends, we’ll leave tomorrow to spend a couple of days with Lauren’s awesome family, I have time and viable ovaries, and the waiting won’t kill me. Probably. 🙂