Emotional Sunday

When Mariya was with us, we had this one really bad Sunday. Emotions ran high. Kleenex ran low. You know how it gets when your hormones take over your brain? It was a day full of heartache, crying, and hugging. It was cathartic. Mariya and I called it “Emotional Sunday" and it was our first bonding experience. Even when she was leaving us eight months later, we still talked about Emotional Sunday like it was a place where you could just go and be sad and then move on. I liked the release it gave her—and I—to just be emotional when emotional was what needed to be.

This past week I have been living in Emotional Sunday. I have gone through all the motions of wife and mother. We’ve had playdates, church parties, and picture deliveries. Dishes have been done. No one was living under the covers. But on the inside—I am a swirl of stress, emotion, and nerves about having another baby.

There—I said it—and blogged it (even more official)—we want another baby.
But ...it isn’t happening. For a year now we have been open to the idea. For nearly that long we have made out appropriately as needed. For three months I have been putting off buying one of those “I’m the big brother” shirts for little man because frankly I am starting to realize there is a reality that may not happen. Given my medical condition percentages are just not in our favor.

That brings me to all the well meaning advice of “Just don’t worry about it” or “It will happen” and my least favorite, “You did it once, you can again.” These little quips really cut into me. After all, I do worry about it! It might not happen! It is a freaking miracle that with a less than 50% chance of pregnancy (and lesser chance of live birth) that we ever had a child. Plus-- This. is. my. life. My time would be better spent vacuuming than dreaming up witty ways to tell my husband and our family that I am pregnant. Yet, it is all I think about. And every month, I am shut down.

So, I had my week of feeling really blue. But here is the reality that I keep coming back to. On Monday, I was in the waiting room at the fertility doctor trying to absorb myself in some insignificant People magazine. However, I knew that I had not made any notes and I started to get concerned that when I got in front of the doctor my mind would go blank. (Does that happen to you?) I figured I better write down my questions. So, I grabbed out a pad of paper and start digging in my bag for a pen.
Digging.
Digging.
I can't find one. All I can find is crayons. Red. Blue. Yellow. From some restaurant hostess for Little Man. My eyes get all full of tears. Yeah, I am sitting in a world-renowned fertility doctor's office, but my bag-- my bag has crayons in it.

I am very lucky already.