I admit that for the last week or so I've been stuck in a place between desperation and a nervous breakdown. Combine that with wicked gas, spontaneous crying, two sick children, and the fear of a miscarriage, and it's like a weekend in Mississippi!
Okay. I'm kidding.
For the record, I am freaking the fuck out. You know, just in case you were wondering. The "freaking the fuck out" part has less to do with the idea of a cute little addition to our family, and more about my ability to handle three children (eek, can barely say that) in a way that doesn't make me want to shave my head and party late nights without my underpants.
I'm trying my darndest to live day by day, and not look ahead to October, where I see my poor unshowered stinky gigunda self trying to manage three kids and work, mostly alone, with no family within a 1500 mile radius.
And up goes the "freak" meter.
I admit that your comments, congratulations, and thoughtful emails did wonders. Your excitement will be my excitement. At some point soon, I hope. And apparently a positive pregnancy test is a good way to delurk people (so nice to meet you all, officially now).
Plus, there are babysitters, nannies, and booze to be had. And cool bloggy friends who I will force my baby upon.
But today, I'm okay. Other than wanting to toss my cookies unless I'm actively shoving food into my gullet (which is now baby related -- I did actually have the stomach flu) and waiting desperately for my second set of HcG levels (4590 were the first set. Is that high? I'm still looking at ONE baby right? RIGHT?), I'm doing okay.
And right now. This instant. That's all that matters.