I miss being hopeful.
We all mention it, we've all lost it for a while or not got it back yet, or we're hanging on to it with whatever tenuous grip we can find but dammit I miss that innocent feeling of hopefulness that used to follow me around. That glorious, "it won't happen to me" feeling that has gone because it can and has happened to me.
My pregnancy was not fun, I bled, I spotted, I had a lot of pain, I worried, I stayed home, I went to work, I was reassured. But up until that moment when I saw the cord dangling from me I had real hope. Ray was convinced that every time we rushed to the early pregnancy assessment clinic everything would be ok. He has lost that sureness now. So much so that he tortured himself for a while with fear. And I joined in playing that game too, along with all the other negativity with which I have so enjoy torturing myself.
But I'm ready now to really hope again. Come on hopefulness, where are you? I'm ready (so ready) to make another baby with love and look forward to his or her arrival. I'm an optimist at heart and I see no point in stirring the pot of stress cooking on the stove more than the bare minimum. (Even though I've been stirring it with an industrial sized cement mixer these last few months) I know that most of the rubbish I worry about really doesn't matter. What matters is love and the people I love.
Hellooooo hopefulness, let's be having you... and if you could bring a nice healthy dose of super-fertility along with you that would be just super.
Random old photo newly scanned.
From back in the "good old days" when snow was whiter and summers were longer and hotter. We used to beg our parents to take us "up Bushbury hill" with the sledge that my brother made with my Dad. Here we got my Mum to drive, I'm tucked in behind her (you can see my enormous mittens on her shoulders) and my brother is standing on the back. That hill would be crowded on sunny snowy days and we would often bump into friends and neighbours who had the same idea.