Tuesday, September 18, 2007
I've done a few pregnancy tests in my life. Sometimes I've wanted one result and sometimes I've wanted another, I've wept over them, felt quietly resigned, felt elated, felt scared to death. It's one of those cyclical things that brings time crashing in, so that every time I test I see those other tests - good and bad - flashing before my eyes. Tonight's test looks relatively tranquil in the pictures, but it was done in the chaotic post dinner bedlam, between dessert and the kid's bath, while Martin washed the dishes.
There's a part of me that wants 100 babies. I love newborns. I love the milky haze of breastfeeding. I love watching babies grow into themselves, discover their smiles, their ha has and their ba bas. I love watching language emerge and dreaming about who they might one day become. The thought of being pregnant again fills me with expectation.
But this probably isn't the best timing for us. I have my thesis due and novels to write. I'm breadwinning at the moment. We're moving next month. I have to get my license. Fred starts kinder soon. We've got no childcare organised for Una. And I must admit, I am a bit scared of pregnancy. I've never suffered post natal depression, but I came close to depression in my first trimester with Una - though admittedly there was a lot of other stuff going on, it's hard to separate out what's what.
My feelings are complicated. If it's positive, if it's 2 bright healthy pink lines, I know what I'm in for. The good and the bad.
But if it's negative, if it's one single line, I'll be sad.
I'll be sadder than I expected to be.