So we went on vacation this week. Opting for a reasonably priced, somewhat local option (we were thinking about Hawaii earlier this year, but it's just silly since I'm pregnant), we spent a week chilling out at my aunt & uncle's vacation home in the Utah mountains. I wouldn't say we did a lot - we did some stuff every day, but mostly relaxed which was the whole objective.
They say it takes three days for a person to actually relax on vacation. What would that look like? I use sleep as a gauge. In which case, relaxing apparently took a while - in fact, having arrived on Friday night it wasn't until the following Thursday night that I got a good night's sleep. The night before we headed home. Pretty sad, huh? But part of the reason is, that three-floor house in the forest surrounded by the black of night instead of the sounds of the city is downright creepy when it's just me and DH there. Otherwise we love it to pieces.
But anyway, on to the subject of the day: living in tension. I've said that I have decided to embrace hope, and that is true. As evidence I point to my generally non-stressed demeanor and acceptance of this pregnancy. I'm not freaking out about things anymore, though I kind of avoid learning much about raising a baby just yet. It's trickling in. Too overwhelming right now.
We finally decided to let the larger world in on our growing secret this week. Yeah, it took this long (I'm 17 weeks now). Letting the cat out of the bag feels like I'm enabling it to run away. Is that a weird analogy? And.. I still haven't told anyone at my work (save for the few who know me on more than a water cooler basis). And I still don't want to. Though they're probably about to start taking bets so I should.
I think there's something publicly embarrassing or just very awkward about people knowing about such an intense and private loss. Not like when a family member dies, but something.. I don't know what it is. Shame isn't the right word, I know.
Maybe it's because our society has no idea how to grieve publicly. We're taught to lick our wounds in our caves on evenings and weekends so we can be sparkly and productive on weekdays. But real life isn't like that. It kicks and screams and demands to be dealt with when it's inconvenient and messy and ugly. It relentlessly hounds us until we have nervous breakdowns or failed relationships, or until we pursue counseling or medications - or sometimes all of the above.
If this pregnancy doesn't work out, I don't know how I would return to work. I don't know that I would be mentally capable for some time. But why do such thoughts even cross my mind? Why am I still waiting for the other shoe to drop? Everything in my body is 100% clinically proven to be normal. Normal! The scans and the chromosomal blood tests prove it. So what the hell is my problem?
Oh wait... it's been a couple weeks since I cracked open that Battlefield of the Mind book. Guess it's time to do some more reading.
Sigh... God's work in my heart is never done.
