The Intermittent Post...

I can't help it, I just can't seem to get to my computer often enough to post something that sounds relevant! I feel like everyone else is saying it all so much more eloquently, and their sense of humor just blows me away.

Today I am seven weeks pregnant. I feel like I have been pregnant forever, mainly because known for three weeks and two days. My stomach is queasy every day, and I was never this way with my son. I am acutely tired in the afternoon, and I hate to nap, because I always feel so out-of-sorts when I wake up. But the thought of sleep is so alluring...thank God for these part-time hours, I don't have to explain to anyone why I am napping on my couch at work!

I still haven't made an appointment with my doctor. I know that I could get in within a few days, so I'm not worried about the time, but I still feel like I should just enjoy being pregnant before I mess it all up by getting an ultrasound. My husband said to me the other day, "what if this all works out?" Well, I didn't wan't to burst his bubble that even if it all works out, we still have a long way to go. Which is why I am cautiously optimistic.

I went for a walk yesterday with my neighbor, who I found out lost her baby when she was eight months pregnant. She and I would have had babies at the same time, although I lost mine before it was much of anything (no heartbeat was found), and she was preparing for a live child. She seems to be doing quite well, considering. I told her as soon as started our walk that I was pregnant again, because I didn't want her to feel like I was hiding anything. Besides, I would tell her if we had a miscarriage too. She thought Owen was so cute, and I hope it didn't hurt her too much to be around my child, but I don't think it did. There is something about children with Down Syndrome that they are different, welcoming. They somehow remind you of the fragility and perserverance of life all at the same time. She told me that I was really lucky to have him, and that she just wants to have a child who lives. Odd, isn't it? How we are both living in our own form of mental anguish: me with what I perceive to be a broken child, and she with her lack of a live child. They are going to try again in a few months, and from what I know, it took them almost two years to get pregnant. She's now 38, same age as me. But she seems pretty upbeat about it, which I admire.

I'm hungry again, and I suppose I ought to make that appointment now. I finally sent off the first three chapters of my book to be read by a screenwriter/mentor friend of mine. I'm afraid she's going to think it's terrible and lie to me. I suppose I should just send it out to some agents, they, at least, will be straight with me.

By the way, it's a book about our first year with Owen and what we have learned. And I'm hoping somehow I can score Brooke Sheild's publicist; who was able to get her article in every magazine ever published. Funny how beautiful the face of post-partum depression can be...