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My reality

Recently, it feels like I am such a failure at everything. And when you feel that way, it is so hard to write about it. Since that’s all I’ve been talking about lately anyway, it gets pretty old. And if it’s bugging me, it certainly must not be fun for you to read about.

And yet… it is my reality. All I see are the things I haven’t done. Projects I haven’t finished, things I have failed my son and husband in, my messy house, a stack of books I haven’t read, filing and laundry and dishes to be done…

I used to be (and feel) so organized. I was on top of everything most of the time. And now, if it weren’t for automatic billpay, we’d probably be without living quarters or utilities. I just can’t seem to get it together.

It’s hard to admit. Hence, the ongoing silence. What do I say without sounding like I’m just whining? AGAIN? It’s still my reality right now. All I see right now as I look around is everything I haven’t done yet. Every misstep. Every failure.

I don’t think my family is complete

J and I have had many discussions recently about our family. I want another baby. He’s on the fence about it. That decision was almost made for us recently, as I’m pretty sure I was briefly pregnant. Just long enough to start feeling it, knowing something’s different. Just enough to adjust mentally to the possibility, and start getting used to it. Just long enough to start thinking about how our lives could change, and what we’d need to do.

And then? Nothing. A very late, odd period. Not the usual (I will spare you the details of how it wasn’t the same). So while it’s not 100% certain, and there’s no way now to really confirm it, my body was telling me something.

And I believed it. And I wanted it so badly. I did. Still do. I was left with the feeling that our family is not yet complete. We still have someone else to meet.

But nothing’s ever simple. I had a lot of problems last time. It was not easy. Not for me, and not for J. He had to worry about losing me. I don’t really think that was an issue, but that does not mean that fear was not real. And if I get pregnant again, that fear comes back.

I had excellent care. My doctors were fabulous, keeping good tabs on both me and the baby. When my blood pressure went up just a little bit, they made me go in for monitoring. When the baby was stuck in the birth canal and not making any progress, they went in to get him before he or I went into distress. The surgery was a little rough, but I was fine. Tired, but fine.

Every pregnancy is different. There are no guarantees. The next one could be easier. Textbook, even. My chances of diabetes again, though, are pretty good. So we don’t know. No one ever does, do they?

The question is – are we willing to take that risk?

I think maybe I suck just a little bit

I’m having one of those moments when I doubt my writing. No, not my professional writing. I enjoy that very much and I think I do a decent job most of the time. Need to know how to do something? No problem! Want my professional opinion on something? You got it!

It’s my writing. Here. A few people stop by now & again, say hello, and comment on what I’m writing. (By the way, HI! and Thank you!) And I do love it when they do. But I feel like maybe I’m not connecting with other women, other mothers, hell, other people the way I want to.

Actually, I’m not even sure what I want. Maybe that’s the problem. I want to write. I want people to read what I write and go “me, too!” and let me know that. Or let me know what’s going on with them. And it happens sometimes. (did I mention how happy that makes me? thank you so much. really. I love you. want to get some coffee? wait, where are you going?)

But I wonder what I’m doing wrong. Oh, sure, there’s not really any right or wrong when it comes to this thing, this writing a personal site where people can come and go as they please. I do write for myself, but I also want to connect. I want to have a community of friends, of readers who I can talk to, share things with, hear what works for them, hear their stories, too. more…