Last summer, when I told my nieces that I was about to embark on this baby project, I told Erica (the one who is getting married next month, the wedding that is the source of such family drama) that if this first attempt (last August) worked, that I would have a baby for her wedding.
Her response: "You better not steal my thunder."
I shrugged it off. She's a bride-to-be; of course she's thinking that way. However, as the months of negative tests progressed, that statement stuck in my head. Each month, it was as if her statement was like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
And so, on my last chance to be pregnant for her wedding (I've long given up on the dream of having a baby to show off to my out-of-town relatives), it has failed again. I found out on Friday that the test was negative.
It felt awful. Painful. Gloomy. I left work early. My eyes were so raw from crying so hard in my office, I just didn't have the strength to go to a web team meeting that afternoon. And so I went home, sat under a blanket and watched "Days of Our Lives" and "Law and Order." By 5:30 or so, I was feeling less like a hermit and actually got up and got some things accomplished.
It still hurts. It's still a painful, dull ache inside of me, but each day gets a little better. And I have to believe that I'm still moving forward, still working toward the goal of getting pregnant.
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