I try to tell myself I am other things, besides pregnant. Mom. Wife. Attorney. Friend. Volunteer.
I tell myself I will still be those things if/when this pregnancy ends. I have a rich life...filled with love and happiness and...life. It doesn't all rest on the outcome of this biological function called gestation. What will be, will be...and I will still be me.
But I can't quite get there.
IT is always there.
Mom...how will I tell the boys?
Wife...how will Steve cope...again?
Attorney...you want me to concentrate on this when there is so much else that is important?
Friend...I am incapable of being a good friend right now.
Volunteer...I'm TRYING...but I just can't concentrate on what you need from me.
Always...just...preparing for the end.
The fear and anxiety have kicked in during the last two days. No surprise there. Springtime sunshine. Holiday weekend. 19 weeks. Ultrasound on Thursday morning. Expectations that it all ought to crash down around my ears within the next week or so. And if, by chance, it survives past this point...there is always May to slog through.
Tears swirl the letters on the screen and my hands shake as I type this...certain it is already over. I was certain yesterday too...but the doppler proved me wrong (I need to start carrying that thing in my purse).
I am not sure I can do this.
I know I've done it once before.
But I'm still not sure I can do this.