Back up off me.

Alright, alright. I know. It's been a long time since I blogged. I'm tired. Hi, I'm growing a human.

Ok, that's a terrible excuse. Like sitting on my fatty butt and typing for a few minutes is so difficult. It's more that I don't know what to say. I thought that NOT being pregnant was hard emotionally. Being pregnant is harder. If that's possible. What's that saying "be careful what you wish for...." I think it's true.

I soooo badly wanted to be pregnant. If I could just get pregnant, I'd be OK. I'd just KNOW everything was going to be OK. That's what all my friends said. You'll just know it's fine. You'll feel it in your heart. I feel nothing like that. I feel fear and panic on a daily basis.

But that's not all. I also feel a sort of peace. Yes, I'm spotting on a daily basis. And that is simply terrifying. And it makes me think of all kinds of terrible thoughts. Starting with "I'm going to miscarry" and ending somewhere along the lines of "My baby has a horrible defect and only the progesterone I'm taking is keeping me from miscarrying." Hi, I'm crazy. If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that. If you're new, please make a note. I'm crazy. It really makes my mental ramblings easier to understand if you just accept that I'm not sane.

But Ok, so I'm spotting. It's not much (TMI alert...please skip the next sentence if you don't want to know)...it's generally just a dot or two of red. Or a red streak once or twice a day. I never need a panty liner. It doesn't last all day. (Hey, you were warned. Karma points for me for warning you.) My nurse calls it "scant". Whatever. I call it "scary as shit". Po-tay-toe/po-tah-toe. Then I think that if it was going to turn into more, it would have, right? (This is where you all chime in and tell me it'll be OK)

Let's discuss my day. I start off completely optimistic. I am pregnant! I'm going to be MOM. There is a little heartbeat (and legs! We saw them!) living inside me. And it's not mine! Yay! Then every time I go to the bathroom and have a "safe" trip, I feel more and more reassured that in April, we will come home with a healthy baby. Then it starts. Sometimes it's bearly noticeable. I wonder if it's really there or if it's all in my mind. So I keep checking. Until I get the confirmation of what I was afraid of. And then every reassurance I felt that everything is OK flies out the window. And the terror is back.

It's sad. My mom wants to talk about the baby. My sisters want to talk about it. My MIL wants to talk about it. Heck, **I** want to talk about it. But I feel like as soon as I start to feel good, it starts up again. So I avoid it. As though by avoiding talking about the baby I can prevent the spotting. As tough I have that kind of power. If I did, this stupid spotting would have stopped already. Because I try the mind body connection thing on a daily basis. You know, the new-age touchy feeling theory that you can heal yourself by thinking it. For the record, it doesn't work.

You know what else doesn't work? Prayer. I have prayed and prayed and prayed for it to just stop already. Just stop. I can't take it anymore. But it doesn't. Of course, I also pray and pray and pray for Poppy to be just fine and frankly, if I can only get 1/2 of what I pray for, I'll take that, thank you very much. So really, I'm not even complaining about that. Just pointing it out!

So I wonder. Will blogging about it have any effect? What do you think? Perhaps the Internet has some power I'm not aware of. Any chance I can ask you all to pray for me? And Poppy? And the poor HG? The HG has been a trooper. I have to say he's like the best and stuff. In addition to dealing with a really nasty work problem (think absolute terror on a daily basis of being fired--for the record, this won't happen and was never going to happen. But I, of all people, understand irrational fear), finishing his Master's thesis, and buying a house, he's been dealing with the crazy, terrorized wife. For real. If ever I wondered if I married the right guy (um, I never have but if I ever had), those thoughts would have been put to rest after all of this. He is a trooper. I don't know where he gets the strength to deal with it all. I wonder if he taps my Xanax....hmmmm....

To sum up this rambling, not so amusing post, I'm a crazy girl. Who is going crazier with every passing day. And as I cannot take any xanax, Valium, lithium, or even aspirin, please send help. Post haste.

PS--The HG has reassured me that he does not tap my Xanax: "It's expired anyway." Good to know.