I'm not so complex after all

Yesterday's anger has passed. You're right Jill...time for me to go into education mode myself. People who deal with people like me should know better. And since they so obviously don't, it's time to give them the proverbial kick in the ass.

So...

I figured out why the gestational diabetes thing bothers me. It really is no big deal physically. I mean, I took care of it with Sam and I'll take care of it with the Beast. And, quite frankly, I could stand to lose more than a few pounds anyway (yes, I actually lose weight during pregnancy when monitoring my blood sugar...proof that I eat terribly when I am not pregnant and am not really at my body's true equilibrium weight...but I digress). But this morning I had an epiphany of sorts.

It's not really the counselor that I object to. I'm hurt by idiocy still, after all this time...but I can manage that. I do what I do...cry...and then educate. It's really not all that bad of a lifestyle for me. But I couldn't figure out why this one brought forth so much anger. I don't want this person coming into my life uninvited...telling me how to behave...what to do. Everything in my revolted at the very thought that I, once again, did not have control over my own life. And then it hit me...

I've been dealing with this by using denial. I don't think of myself as pregnant every waking moment like I did when pregnant with Sam and Alex. I just can't bring myself to really acknowledge that that is what is going on. Sure, I limit my caffeine, drink more water, eat slightly better, take my vitamin, don't lift heavy things, and I can't run around like a maniac in the back yard anymore...but the everyday normal routine is pretty much the same for me as when I'm not pregnant. Before, where I would spend time surfing the internet for baby names or cool baby gear/clothes, I just do my normal stuff. I concentrate on my work (and have gotten a surprising amount done in the last month). I chat with my mommy friends on my June 2002 message board. I go home, clean up after the old dog, walk the foster dog, feed the horses, make dinner, sit down and watch television or sit down and play trains with Sam. It's actually been EASY. I freak out about once a week, but it passes when I realize there's nothing I can do about it anyway...so I might as well chill. See what I mean? Almost normal!

Now I'm going to have to pay attention to this pregnancy. I'm going to have to pull my head out of the sand and face it head-on. And to be quite honest, I'm not ready to do that just yet. I want to hide some more...no...I NEED to hide some more. 17 weeks is too soon to have to deal. I'm not even wearing maternity clothes yet (except on an occasional gassy day when I'm feeling like a blimp and know I'm not going to be seen in a professional setting). So what the heck am I supposed to do? I'm supposed to sit across a table from a counselor and have her instruct me on how to manage this pregnancy. MANAGE. Some days I'm still lucky to manage to acknowledge that I AM pregnant. I'm standing at the bottom of Mt. Everest with no climbing gear and I have no idea how to take that first step so that I don't fall to my death.

What's worse is that I'm going to have to face this pregnancy as though it will result in an actual living baby. How the hell am I going to do that? Distance is the only way I've thought of to keep my heart from being broken into a zillion pieces if the unthinkable happens a second time. But this is going to require me to think, "I have to do this so my son/daughter can have the best start possible," four times a day (to start). I'm going to have to do this in preparation for a living baby. What if...?

What if I do all this and this baby dies? What if I do all this and this baby lives?

Both options terrify me.

You know, after Alex died, I morbidly joked with Steve that if I had been "sticking myself" during that pregnancy I would have been REALLY PISSED that Alex had died. Now here I am. Why do I tempt fate by saying such stupid things anyway?