I find it hard to write lately.
Not because there is nothing to write about, but because it is hard sitting here putting words on a screen and wondering how they will be received in real life.
My Mum reads here.
So does Nan.
And it must be hard for them to read that I’m coping badly sometimes. That all this is hard for me too. Not to mention that as you leave comments Nan is reading them too.
So it is hard. I can imagine they are pulled between protecting me ‘their little girl’ and letting me deal with it exactly the same as they are. The hard way.
I find that I am walking a fine line between being honest with myself (and writing it) and not wanting them to worry about me, or how I am coping. The last thing I want Nan to feel is that she has to protect me and hold my hand. I don’t want to put that kind of stress on her, because at the end of the day, this isn’t about me and how well I am dealing with it.
It isn’t even really about how any of us are coping with it. It’s all about how we can manage to pull through this together and survive emotionally to tell the tale.
I am writing this because for the last 2 days I have been steadfastly not coping. I have been teary and exhausted and catatonic on the couch. I have been not coping at all.
And by not coping I feel that it kind of puts me at a disadvantage. I don’t want to be protected, I don’t want to have people worrying about how I am.
I will be fine. Honestly.
I want to be able to not think about it until I need to. I want to be able to place it in the ‘do not open’ section of my brain and leave it alone until the 28th. I want to be able to be superwoman and turn off all my emotions for a bit.
It doesn’t work like that though, so I vent to my blog. And don’t doubt it, this is venting. I don’t have a close girlfriend I can ring and cry to. Most days I don’t even get to leave my damn house! So I blog and vent and cry and leave myself wide open to the interpretation of the internet.
Aside from Nan, there is other stuff going on at the moment. It all makes for a great deal of stress and a good deal of unbloggable material.
And dammit, I am pregnant too! It took me 16 fucking months to get myself knocked up and I am so so scared that I will be thrown back into the TTC pool without a live baby on my hands. I don’t talk about it much, but somehow, when getting pregnant has been so hard, you realise just how fragile it all is and you worry just a little bit more about things.
I hit 13 weeks tomorrow so I know that my chances of a miscarriage have dropped alot, but I still worry; probably more than I should.
Repeats after me, everything will be fine in the end. everything will be fine in the end. everythingwillbefineinthend.everythingwillbefine…
