I drive to work in the dark and drive back home in the dark. It's a very confusing thing, this leaving before most of the world has opened their eyes for the day and then coming back to my family when most others have already sat down to share dinner together. My days are marked by headlights, that first cup of coffee, the snooze button and fighting my eyes to open long enough to get a proper shower in.
Something happened recently that shook me a little harder than I thought. I'm an intelligent person, lurking a bit more towards the half empty side side of things. But I still obsess a bit too much over the "what-ifs" and not the "how it really is" parts of life. What if the zombies really do take over, what if that scratch on my hand turns into a festering boil, how long will I survive if I don't manage to find something for lunch RIGHTTHISVERYSECOND. I live my days with my feet firmly planted on the ground but my head somewhere just about the cloud line. Some moments can be stressful and I may get lightheaded from the elevation but, really, everything moves along just fine.
And then there was an oops, followed by a couple more because we were just kind of "Oh, what the hell" about it all. Babies make you do funny things. Yes, I'm referring to my sex life and no, I probably shouldn't be. But, oh, what the hell, right? I certainly am not itching to fill my womb again any time soon but, once the possibility had presented itself and shook my hand, I couldn't help by think about it. It, a little baby, just like the two little babies I kiss and hug to sleep at night. I know how babies are made, I know how cycles work and how long that lady egg has to meet her gentleman caller sperm friends and then the funny little dance that they do if the courtship stage works out for them. I know the percentages and the possibilities and the likelihoods and the equations of the whole thing and so I understood that really, there was no Prom going on in my uterus. And yet there was my brain, jumping at the chance to do it all over again.
But there I was, feeling every symptom in the book right on schedule. Was this little one a boy or a girl? I picked out a name for each, just in case, and filed them into the back of my brain. Would this one be more of an Eli or a Sam? Where would it sleep? How would I hide this at work? Oh, the perils and pitfalls of having an imaginary baby! We didn't talk about it much, what had happened. There was an agreement made that everything would be just fine and we would survive and thrive and all of that good stuff. Other than that, nothing else was said. But I wouldn't be far off of the mark to say that there was a bit of excitement bubbling under the surface in our home.
As the symptoms intensified, the sticks remained negative. Well, truth be told, all but one. There was one, the second to last one that I took, the little pee stick that could with a very slight second line. I saw it, I know I did, but I didn't say anything. The next day there was a negative and then, that night, my period came in with the final verdict, and that was that. My brain gave birth to a little imaginary baby, but my body knew better.
Like I said, I'm a smart woman. I know that I was never pregnant and that my mind led the race that I could never win. It is what it is, this I understand. But I think my mind never came back down to where it usually rests, it must have taken a detour on the way back and now it's lost. Leaving bed has become increasingly difficult, my brain is ten shades of I don't know and all I want to do is curl up into a ball and close my eyes. All of this happens from time to time, it's not something I'm unfamiliar with, it's just not something I was prepared for this time around.
I'll trudge through the muck, come out on the other side, take a shower and be good as knew. But, for now, I'll be over here, sorting through my brain and not saying much of anything. I'll let you know when I'm ready for that shower.