Creepin on...

Time surely creeps along when you are waiting for surety. And, perhaps surety will never arrive. I am absolutely positive that *if* my appointment this Friday results in fairly clear and positive results, then I will be on to worrying about the next check-in.

So far, no more bleeding. That is a good thing. And, the persistent, in the background nausea has taken hold since last Sunday. It comes and goes, marching to the beat of its own drum and doesn't help me to feel chipper as I twiddle my thumbs til Friday. Sadly, with my last pregnancy that ended in miscarriage, I was angry not only that the pregnancy had ended, but that I had absolutely no clue that it had ended while the morning sickness marched on.

I sit here at three in the afternoon ready to collapse. I have done not even an iota of exercise since seeing two lines, but I'm beat tired. I actually bought a camper-cot to put in my office so I can lay down over my lunch hour. How pitiful is that? I didn't get to do so today, but I will later on before my class this evening. It is during these moments that I wonder how I will even stand up to lecture for two hours or, God forbid, what happens if I get truly sick/nauseous? What an adventure...

The waiting is hard to take. Last Saturday, I started thinking it was all over. In fact, I was pretty sure it was over since the "rug being pulled from under your feet" is getting to be a familiar feeling. And, I got angry. I was angry because I felt I had been fooled by hope once again: what a tenuous relationship I have with hope and with any sense of God.

Being that I am preparing for my class on "Prayer" this evening, I got to thinking about my own prayer patterns. After losing Sarah, Rachel, and Noah, God somehow became the cosmic baby-keeper in my mind. Sometimes I am angry that God has them and I don't and therefore I don't say much. Other times, I am content to know that they know no pain and I work at a sense of peace that will give them the freedom to be throughout eternity. The majority of the time, my babies are inextricably linked to my prayers and I can almost feel them in the room when speaking with God.

Right now, I feel as if saying "no, God, this one is mine...I get to keep this one...remember?" It is almost as if I want to bargain with fate in such a way that justice would be an undeniable, redeemable reality. Two excruciating losses should equal one uneventful pregnancy and the world's best baby in my arms.

I know, it doesn't work that way. Sometimes my best effort at prayer is nothing more than wishful thinking...