You see?  Definite reasons for panic.  I am SO justified in this unreasonable terror.

Seriously, I’m having a tough time.  Being off prednisone makes me feel so good that I’m convinced it’s killed Thor.  And only a heartbeat’s gonna make me feel better.   Thanks to the tracking page that BabyBeat so thoughtfully provided for me (and what DID we do before tracking pages.)  My doppler left Maspeth in Queens on a UPS truck at 4:36 this morning.  It will totally be here today.  Thank you, UPS!

But meanwhile?  I”m gonna gnaw my fingernails to stubs.  I’m going to mash my boobs against my ribcage repeatedly, in the hopes that I’ll be able to detect more tenderness than the last time I mashed my boobs against my ribcage.  I’m going to stare at lights, hoping to encourage a sneeze (which might be a double, pregnant sneeze, you know) and I’m going to analyze every twinge, every pain, every tickle.

I want it to be September already.

Not at all.

Instead of living week to week for ultrasounds, or even hanging in there til my first trimester is over (hah!) I’m living pretty much bathroom-trip to bathroom-trip, based on the color of the toilet paper.  And thanks to the overactive bladder, that’s pretty much hour to hour.

And oh-my-fucking-god can I just tell you right now how much I hate this?  Feeling fine, feeling great, in fact, because the sick just keeps getting blechier, and the boobs keep getting sorer, but then – hey, what’s this?  More blood.  Red blood, brown blood, pinkish blood.  Never a lot, never enough to make me say, “Whoa!  This looks like a miscarriage!”  But it’s blood.  Coming from the womb of death.  I hate it all.

Plus I’ve got a zit on my forehead, and since I break out when I’m NOT pregnant, it’s got me panicking over more than whether or not the Boy will ask me to the Valentine’s Day dance looking like this.

I’m just so damned weary of being afraid.  Scared sucks, and what’s almost worse is that I’m not even heart-poundingly panicked – I just feel resigned, somehow.  Fatalistic.  Like, if I’m going to lose this pregnancy too, can’t I just do it now instead of it dragging on for another week or two?  And that is so unlike me that it just annoys the hell out of me – when I can be bothered to feel annoyed.

I’m thinking of going in to the clinic tomorrow, instead of waiting til my day off on Thursday, just because I’m tired of the suspense.  I’m tired of waiting for a shoe to drop on my head, tired of waiting for the punchline that will make me cry.

I just want something to be easy – or at least not the hardest thing ever.  I keep doing what feels like the hardest thing ever, and it keeps not being enough to make any of this work.  This is a fucking donor egg pregnancy.  This is supposed to be cake.  Cake made from the fluffy, happy eggs of a sweet young thang.  And my ancient woodburning-oven can’t even bake it properly?  Someone get me a new recipe, damnitall.

Internets, I’m just so very tired.  And I want to stop bleeding.  And I want to stop waking up in the middle of the night, needing to pee, and just lying there until my bladder is ready to goddamned well explode, because I’m too scared to go into the bathroom where I might find more blood than my brain can rationalize away.

I just want to be pregnant.  With a baby.  A baby that I can feel somewhat confident might be around in another week or two.  Or month or two.  Or year or two.  Or decade or two.  And I’m seriously starting to wonder if that’s something I’m ever going to be allowed to have.

And I hate that.

Going to think about going in to pee now.

Maybe.  But I’ll bet it can wait anothe r 2o minutes if I put my mind to it.

But seriously, I’m not quite sure why, but I spent most of yesterday trying to find my calm, and then frantically trying to find my calm, and then giving in and letting the panic have its way because it was easier than crawling through the rubble which is all that was left of the Calm, on my bloody hands & knees, screaming for the Calm to come back, pleasepleasePLEASE!!!

Um, that didn’t really work out so well for me.  Sort of counterproductive, actually.

Not sure why my brain decided to freak out yesterday.  Possibly because I’ve been spending all of my allotted worrying time worrying about why I’m not worried.  Or because I’ve forgotten to knock wood or toss salt every time I notice myself being all complacent and mellow.

Mellow is not who I am.  I know better.  I’ve obviously been inhabited by an alien.  An alien with tentacles.  And no eyes.

And if my doc were working today, I’d be sorely tempted to go in this morning for that scan a day earlier than I was planning.  But he’s not.  And I won’t risk a horrible wanding by Herr Bigshot if I don’t need to – I can protect myself that much, at least.  even if I can’t seem to do much about/for my current low-level state of panic.

I’m only at 5w & a few days here.  It feels like I’ve known about this pregnancy for months, years even.  In a way, I have.  I’ve been resigned to DE being our best shot at parenthood for so long, that it has felt inevitable, really.  Which is good in some ways – I honestly wasn’t surprised by the positive HPTs or beta numbers as I have been every other time.  But it does mean that it feels like I’ve been in this first trimester for about 6 months, now, and I’m really ready to be obviously, incontrovertibly pregnant.  But I’m not – not yet anyway.  And it’s still so early.  So horribly early that anything can happen so easily, and I wouldn’t know til it was over.  And that’s happened so many times now that it just feels like the way pregnancies progress, you know?  You’re feeling good, feeling pregnant, and then you learn that you’re not.  And you spend the next few months wondering at what exact moment you should have known. At what point you should have stopped looking at baby books and layettes and sunshades and realized that all was not well.  Because all is never well, is it?  Can it be?  Pregnancy isn’t some natural state of being, it’s a wild ride wherein nothing goes well, nothing goes normally, and it’s a blooming miracle the species as a whole can survive because, damn, the birth of a live child is an elusive prize, attained only by the lucky few.  Or so it sometimes seems.

At least I was awake for 2 hours this morning, tossing and turning.  And I’m full-on into a new bra-size.  That has to be a good sign.  (Ow.)  Not feeling yechy, though I will say that spicy/salty food is fast becoming my favorite thing, again, and as an experiment yesterday to actually track my water intake, I easily downed 90 ounces of water in a little less than 2 hours, and I still needed a glass with dinner.  It’s safe to say that the Thirst is still with me.  (and right after I typed that, I went into the kitchen to grab my glass apple-cider jug to start in on today’s drinkathon.)  The Thirst is real, because I certainly can’t drink water like this when it’s just me in here.  (could any human?)  I should really relax a bit.

Hah.

So my brain knows I’m pregnant, everything’s the same, nothing to worry about, but my mind is convinced that this is way too easy.  I don’t like this trend and I’m going to resist.  Maybe my lack of a commute these last few days (and hence, my lack of listening to meditation mp3s) is influencing my crazy, or maybe it’s just time for the insane insecurity to make its debut on the Sprogblogger Emotional Upheaval Stage.

Or maybe it’s just that this is all starting to feel so very real that I cannot imagine what it would feel like to have it taken away again.  Or maybe it’s that I can imagine, that I don’t have to imagine.  Been there.  Never want to go back.  I like it here, and I have a feeling I’ll like it even more in a few months.  Let’s keep going forward, ok?  No more setbacks, no more skinned knees, bumped elbows, unspeakable losses.

And in return, I promise to try to keep the drama to a minimum.  A bare minimum.

*gulp*