I have had quite a week. I'm a bit overwhelmed and stressed out with work, but who isn't? Sometimes I just think that everyone else simply handles their stressors better, and I'm more reactive to them. In addition to that, Thursday was my last day on birth control pills for this cycle. Hopefully my period will be here by Monday and things can progress.
I'm having some serious anxiety already about my fet in December, as well as mood swings. Take yesterday evening- Jamie and I went out for dinner. We start talking about our transfer, our embryos, the changes RE#2 has made to our cycle, and just our fears in general about it not working and what our plan would be after X-amount of time with RE#2. I handled the conversation very well. I was very hopeful and positive that we'll get pregnant with a healthy baby.
Jump forward to bedtime. I'm very sad. Our 5 year wedding anniversary is coming up next month. By now I had imagined having at least a couple of little ones running around the house with Greta. So much time has passed and while a lot of things have changed, nothing has changed. I'm no longer hopeful. I lay in bed, trying to sleep, trying to watch tv, trying to pray to God to have mercy on me. None of it works.
I remember something that my boss said to me last year. (You see, her baby was stillborn at 8 months, had difficulties getting pregnant again, pursued adoption, and the night, yes the very night, her home study was being done found out she was pregnant. They had a little boy, are short term foster parents, and recently got pregnant again. Her baby girl will be born with spina bifida in the spring.) She said that when she was dealing with all of her pain and couldn't sleep, she knew Jesus was keeping her up for a reason, and she would read the Bible. Well this hits me last night. Maybe I'm being kept up for a reason. Now, I'm not spiritually in the same place as she is. I go to church every week. I say prayers at bedtime. I say special prayers to Saint Anthony, Saint Philomena, and Saint Gerard to help me get pregnant. I'm just not the type that is interested in reading the Bible in my spare time. Things can change, but right now, that's not me.
It hits me like a ton of bricks out of nowhere. I need to crochet! I've only crocheted 2 blankets in my whole life and they took me forever, one for Jamie and one for Brooke, and my Grandma got me started and taught me the patterns. Grandma passed away three years ago. But I need to crochet. I hop on the computer and start googling and youtubing directions, which make no sense to me. Dang. Another plan of mine is about to unravel.
Enter the second ton of bricks hitting me in the head. I started crocheting a baby blanket just before we started trying to conceive (I'm very slow, and started the blankie a bit early, knowing I'd get pregnant very soon after trying so I'd have plenty of time to finish it). It's all hidden in a plastic bag, in the basement, with all of the other baby stuff I have bought and can't look at right now. I think about waking Jamie up to go get it for me (it's a basement, it's dark even with the lights on, there are spider webs), but decide against that and just get it myself.
I found my bag and started crying. I was another person when the yarn was bought and the blanket was started. Infertility has changed me. But maybe, by holding the yarn and crochet hook and continuing the stitches, I can harness some of the hope that I began the blanket with. My blanket is not a real pattern. It will not be like the Shells I made for Jamie or the Grannie Ripple/ ZigZag that was made for Brooke. It's just rows and rows of a single crochet, the most basic stitch. It was started by a happy girl who just knew she was stitching this neutral blankie for a baby that was soon to come and would be brought home from the hospital in it and be rocked to sleep in it.
Love and hope and dreams and rainbows with sunshine are in the first 32 rows of stitches. Last night I added another row of love, but also in that row were tears and sorrow and heart ache and longing.
So here is my afghan so far. It's simple and basic, but I suppose so is the desire to be a parent. I will keep plugging away at my afghan when Jesus keeps me up at night. I will remember the Amanda that started the blanket, the Amanda that knew she'd be pregnant very soon. That's the Amanda I want to be again.
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165 stitches in a row, 32 rows so far, all full of love and hope
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a close up of my simple, single crochet afghan
the baby yarn is white with little specks of blue, green, pink, and purple |
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| the date on the receipt |
