Also, I am excessively long winded.
This weekend was one of those marathon never sit, never stop, never quit kind of weekends. Friday night I worked late, met G and Big C for dinner, went home and stripped my bed sheets at 11 pm and completely remade the bed. What kind of crazy people keep a six year old out until 11 pm, anyway! Yeah, and also, Big C is six! Six! It’s unbelievable. Behind us at the restaurant there was a fussy newborn. New newborn. Seriously, it (didn’t trust myself to look directly at the baby, and thus gender was not determined) still had the less than a month old feeble newborn fussy cry. The cry I’ve been waiting 7 years to hear. It’s so hard. When I’m prepped to see babies I do OK. When I know it’s coming I’m fine. It’s when I don’t expect it. When it’s not part of the norm for that situation, or when I have to focus on something else that it really throws me off. I’m like Edward from Twilight. When I’m prepared and/or love the baby enough I can handle it. Otherwise it takes constant self control to not burst out in tears railing about the lack of fairness in the world. OK, so not exactly like Edward. How sad is it that I relate more to a fantasy character in that book than the “every girl” character that girls/women are supposed to relate to?
Right so, Friday was go-go-go. With a pinch of pain. Saturday was go-go-go with constant reminders. We went to a local festival. A festival of which the focus is pork. As I’ve made very clear, pork is really the only meat that I like. I can tolerate others, but I’d take a BLT over a porterhouse any day of the week. The highlight of this festival for G is the smorgasbord. As in all the pork you can eat for $13. $9 for children. The highlight for me is the craft show. I do a lot of Christmas shopping there. This year, the craft barn (it’s a rural festival) was PACKED wall to f’ing wall with strollers, babies, baby related goods, and round bellied pregnant women. To me they all looked 28 weeks pregnant (if you’re counting along, you’ll know that’s where I should be with my Bean). I knew they were going to be there. I know it’s no different from last year. But last year, my BB wasn’t dead. Last year I had hope. Last year I was new to the RE scene and just knew I was going to be pregnant by Christmas. Gag me, right? I held my strength, though, and still managed to get a lot of shopping done. Then, I went home and cleaned my house. I dusted places that haven’t been dusted in two months. I don’t know what got into me.
By Sunday, I had to be so beat that I stayed in bed all day right? I mean, after spending 8 hours surrounded by pork and spit shining my house and everything the day before. Surely, I slept in? Yeah, no. No, I was up and ready to go to the Ohio Renaissance Festival early on Sunday. We stayed there from noon (yeah, G wasn’t so bright and early) until closing then I went to the grocery. So busy again. The Renn Fest was a lot more fun than I expected, too.
What is my point, other than delivering a boring play by play of my weekend? I was constantly on the go this weekend. But that voice in the back of my head didn’t shut up once. You know that voice. That what about adoption? Is there a chance IVF would work better than TIC or IUI? Once the house sells we’ll have XYZ money, maybe we could this or that? I wonder if any of such and so’s teenage friends are knocked up and are open to adoption?
Blah, blah, blah. Broken fucking record that never ever stops. No matter how busy, no matter how otherwise happy, no matter what it keeps going.