My boobs were really really sore for about 3 weeks. Fibrocystic breasts anyone? Aargh don't touch! What fun. I've ordered a sports bra to keep them in order.
Can I confess something? I have a book of baby names next to the bed, hidden under a notebook and a silversmithing reference manual and sometimes I look at it when I go to bed if I go before Ray. It's not even a good baby naming book but I read a few pages, wonder why anyone would be called Adolph these days and choose a couple of names, even though I already have names picked out. Then I put it away. In that day or so when I was convinced I was pregnant I read it just a bit more intensely.
Then I tested. And tested again the next day, and again three days after that. Snowy f@cking white.
My period arrived after 5 days of tearful, "this is the end, menopause is here" type misery and poor Ray couldn't quite get why I was just as miserable at getting my period as at not getting it.
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Then there was the very terribly anxious build up to Rays colonoscopy, or pooposcopy, or bumoscopy or otherendoscopy. His misery while taking laxatives and his awful fear before and during the test. Frightened is hardly a fitting word. What if it's bowel cancer? What we lose each other?
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Like many of you, I'm still reeling from the loss of Wiseguy's so-long-waited-for Lola. She's been a great support to many here and this was supposed to be the beginning of the elusive happy-ever-after that we all long for. I wish so much that it wasn't true. She has such a long sad road ahead of her and if you haven't already, please pop by and help hold her up.
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There weren't five good things last week and I'm going to have to try hard to find five good things tomorrow.
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Sigh.
Today is Little Poppet's due date.
