It was two years ago today that I saw a second blue line - Thomas waving "hello" to me the only way he could. And a beautiful little "hello" it was.
Today - this June 11th - couldn't be more different. I'm sick - nursing a nice summer cold that I suspect is creeping down into my chest - and just a few days away from my second set of ultrasounds and blood work at the fertility clinic. My Dad is into his fifth week with bronchitis that won't seem to clear up (a frightening prospect for someone in such frail health to begin with). My Mom's very last nerve is frayed to the breaking point, so stressed is she about my Dad.
Nothing good appears to be on the horizon, and, in fact, that horizon is pretty scary looking from where I'm sitting.
Two years ago I knew the promise of a new life, and today everything feels dangerously precarious. Very, very fragile indeed.
And I can't do a damned thing about it.
I know things can change in a heartbeat - and sometimes those changes are very good indeed - but when you're not feeling so hot (and feeling pretty darn sorry for yourself at the same time) it's kind of hard to believe that good will ever find you again.
And things were so good once upon a time. I was pregnant with a healthy baby boy, my Dad's irregular heartbeat had reverted to normal sinus rhythm after his faulty defibrillator was replaced, and my Mom was a beaming idiot who told everyone in sight that she was going to be a grandmother. There was so much to be happy about and thankful for, we could hardly believe our good fortune. Truly.
But it all seems like such a struggle now and I feel powerless to make anything better. I'm trying, but my body isn't cooperating and time is marching on. How much time does my Dad have? How much time do I have to make a baby? How much longer will our luck, such as it is, hold?
I'm such a suck when I'm sick. I should have just stayed in bed.