Blank

I don't feel anything.

Well, I feel pretty exhausted, and yesterday I felt like hugging the toilet in nauseous desperation, but inside, on an emotional level, I'm blank.

I am devoid of emotion and excitement, and quite frankly, I'm disappointed in myself. I expected the nervous excitement of being pregnant, of having the very real possibility of a child in my future. Yes, I know we're probably having a child, but in my mind's eye, I can't see that child, I can't imaging holding that child, I can't work him or her into my everyday life and schedule.

I'm excited in front of J, and my family and friends who know, and on a certain level it's authentic in nature, but not in volume. Maybe this is normal, and I just expected too much. Maybe I figured that the amount of pain and emotion involved in the effort should equal the amount of enthusiasm and emotion involved in the end product.

With baited breath and anticipation, I approached the Pregnancy section of my local chain bookstore. All of these possibilities awaited me ... I could browse these books if I wanted, and even buy one! No more Women's Health section for me, I'm in the big leagues. The section I often wandered by, glancing surrepticiously at the titles, but continued to pass by. Imagine my disappointment when nothing, NOTHING, appealed to me. I didn't even want to sit and stay awhile. So I left, because this section wasn't for me.

A nurse friend is currently working at the city health department clinic and just treated a young woman who is expecting twins. She has no support, no family, and none of the supplies that she'll need to get life started with the little ones. When my friend asked for help rounding up some gear to give to the young woman, I was gleeful. A mandated trip to the baby store! Where I could meander among the strollers, bop through the bassinets and dally at the diaper aisle. And get to buy baby things, but not jinx myself!

The trip was a downer. I had no desire to browse. I obligatory checked out each aisle, but with no anticipation and idea of how this place would apply directly to me. I chose a few receiving blankets and some sleep sacks in yellow and green, and loved the way the soft fabric felt on my cheek. I imagined how good it would feel on her babies in the coming cold weather. But I left quickly, as this store wasn't for me.

These experiences are the radical opposite of the beginning of our IF treatment. Still full of expectation that one good HSG to clear out my tubes, or maybe a hit of Clomid, and we'd be on the train to Parenthood. I frequented the Pregnancy section at the bookstore, and often went to baby stores to browse, just because. Just because I was sure that I'd be back, lickity-split, shopping for myself. But once things got more serious, I abandoned these joyful spots, just knowing I would jinx myself, that being so presumptuous would work against me.

I am still the IF patient, not the pregnant woman. I am happy, I am thankful, I do feel the potential for joy and excitement. Just not now.

Guilt overtakes me as here I am, the wife of infertile, who got lucky, yet still manages to feel negatively. How gross is that? But really, I just feel blank.