So here I am in Virginia, ready to celebrate the most anticipated holiday of the whole year for our family. Every Thanksgiving, all of Mr. K’s relatives plus the two other families that he grew up with in Tennessee all meet in the wilderness of Western Virginia for four days of eating, drinking, laughing, talking, and giving thanks. This year is supposed to be even more awesome than previous years – we have rented some huge, luxurious houses in the middle of a ski resort in the Blue Ridge Mountains. We have full access to the resort’s golf, ski, hike, bike, swim, yoga, and exercise activities, plus the AHH-MAZING spa with a full staff of facialists, pedicurists, and masseuses to cater to our every whim. We were here once before for a week right after Mr. K’s little brother got married in Williamsburg, and I know for a fact how fantastic this place is. And this time we’re getting to experience it with the rest of the family plus the Tennessee crowd too. I should be so excited. But I’m not.
The thought of facing everyone just seems like a little too much for me right now. No one except Mr. K’s parents and his twin brother and twin’s wife know we are TTC, but I can already hear them asking the question. Our 2 year anniversary was last month and I just know someone’s going to say, “Well, you two have been married for a while; when are we to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?” Normally this question would not bother me – people have been asking me that for a while now and for the last five months I’ve been happy to say, “Well, we’re working on it!” But everything is different now. As my TTC life slowly returns to normal post-miscarriage, I’ve realized that nothing going forward is going to be the same. I’m never again going to rush to the bathroom in the morning to take a pregnancy test with excitement, hoping innocent hope. I’m never going to shrug and say to myself “It’s just too early,” or “Oh well, next month then!” when the test is negative. I’m never going to be able to excitedly analyze every twitch and every pang in hope that this means what I think it may mean. Even when I do eventually get a BFP, I don’t think I’ll be able to just be excited and happy and jump up and down and start planning things right away, because I’ll constantly be worried that it won’t stick.
My husband thinks I’m being too pessimistic. He doesn’t even want to talk about the possibility that things aren’t going to go our way until they actually don’t go our way. Me, on the other hand – I want to weigh every option and have a plan for every possibility so that we just need to pick one if and when the time comes, and so I’ll know exactly what’s going to happen once we do chose a plan. Perhaps it is pessimistic, or even a little insane (since you can’t really know what’s going to happen or how you’re going to feel about it, no matter how much you plan), but it’s the one thing over which I can at least pretend I have some control.
Last night before dinner, Mr. K pulled me aside and told me that the parents were starting to question the painfully obvious abstinence from alcohol – which if you know me, you’ll know that if it’s after 5pm and there’s not a glass of wine in my hand, something is seriously wrong. “You’d better tell them,” he said. Since they know we are trying, I just told them that the reason I wasn’t drinking was because I might be pregnant, and that we’d know for sure within the next few days. The sound of their hearts jumpping into their throats was almost audible. They were both elated, and came over and gave me big hugs and said they were SO excited. I almost cried right there. I want so badly to make them proud and happy and excited. I’m desperate to be able to give them such wonderful news, to let them know that they are going to be grandparents for the very first time. I’m aching have hear my sweet, kind, beautiful mother in law put her arm around me and proudly say to someone, “Did you know? I’m going to be a grandma!” And maybe it’s silly or attention-whoreish of me, but I really wanted to be able to announce it to everyone on this holiday trip as just one more wondeful blessing that we can be thankful for.
I’m 13dpo and no sign of AF yet, but my temp dropped something awful this morning and I know what that means. I’m hoping that I’m still in the game, but I wouldn’t be surprised if AF shows. It would be just my luck that she would show right on Thanksgiving too. Let’s not even talk about the bitter irony of that. So far the only tears I’ve really shed over a BFN were the ones that came after that one fateful (if short-lived) BFP in October. Every other BFN has been dealable. I don’t think this one would be.
So on Thanskgiving this year, if I raise a glass to celebrate all the good things in life, it will be with a slightly more injured heart. And when someone asks about whether we expect to soon be hearing the pitter-patter of little mini-Ks, I will take a deep breath, compose myself, smile and say one more time, “Well, we’re working on it.”