Head vs. Heart

I had a great outlook on the holiday. I love Thanksgiving, I love seeing family, I love to eat and I love to cook, so all seemed well. Wednesday evening I took some very needed "me" time and ditched my husband after work for the gym, and Marshall (the store, not another man). Spent a fabulous 2 hours shopping and left with only a couple items. (Not like me at all.) Headed right to Hannafords before they closed and picked up my last minute ingredients. Made it home around 9pm and started cooking. 2 hours and 2 Felicity episodes later, I finally fell onto the sofa with a glass of water. (Not wine, which I really wanted. Because that's what you do when you're trying to conceive. You fight the urge to cook with wine.) Hubby soon returned home and we crawled into bed.

Thursday morning we lounged around until it was time to head out. On the way to drop off my egg less quiche and dessert at the in-laws, I read my husband the best post by another blogger. Got half way through before the tears began streaming down. (Reading someone else's thoughts on infertility and the holidays makes me do that.) Click here to read cry. Although my mind was not flooded with thoughts of babies and why I wasn't toting around a 4 month old, I still felt empty. And that's really the best way to describe it. That small part always missing and making you feel less than whole.

We arrived at my parents and enjoyed an amazing meal my mother always puts together. Complete with my nephews all removing their shirts to eat, then destroying the living room when left alone for 5 mins.

But still, there was this emotional nagging on my heart. My Mom, was standing in the kitchen with me, when my Dad walked by and mentioned it had been 8 months since the passing of my grandmother, his mother. My Mom gave me "that" hug, you know the one where you let every guard down and let her wrap her love around you. And that's when it happened. I began sobbing. Because how long can I really keep it together. My sisters quickly came to my side, not needing to say anything, because we all just knew. And there, in the kitchen, we cried. For what was missing, for what had been lost, for the sadness that comes along with a year gone by.

The rest of the day was held together by lots of desserts. At some point I started to feel nauseous, and really tired. So I excused myself and went upstairs to curl up on my in laws sofa. Took a mini nap and later headed home. Friday and more nausea, followed by super tender breasts, and another nap. My head was telling me "You're pregnant!" while my heart kept shouting "Shut the fuck up!". It's difficult at this point to not read into every bodily function or abnormality I experience. Like always, I took a home test. Negative. But it's early, I told myself, be patient.

And the next day was followed by another test. Saturday I had my 10 year high school reunion, so obviously I needed to know if I could drink. Extremely faint line. (Don't get excited. I get those all the time.) I tried to keep my emotions at bay, but my head just kept screaming at me. I even had a dream that I was pregnant with a baby girl, even saw myself at about 5 months pregnant with her. Reunion went well, great to see so many old faces. All in all, a wonderful evening. Milked one glass of wine over 3 hours, and managed to spill a decent amount while giving hugs.

Sunday I woke up not feeling pregnant. No nausea. No cramps. Most tenderness gone. No line. I did however wake to a very little amount of bright red blood mixed with mucus, and one little spot of dry blood. Odd, some what resembles the last time I was pregnant, the implantation process. The mucus continued throughout the day along side some brown blood. (Brown blood is usually old blood, while the bright red is considered new blood.) So that the hell is happening? I have no idea. All I know is that the mucus and brown have continued into Monday and today, along with another negative test and another super faint line. My guess: good ole Aunt Flo is on her way. But a small part of me is still hoping, while my heart continues to yell "Shut the fuck up!"

And of course, as luck would have it, my husband's urologist is on vacation all week. Waiting until next Monday to discuss scheduling his surgery. Still hoping this is our month, but knowing deep down, it probably isn't.