Time is so not flying that I can't believe this is only Wednesday. What happened to those crazy days that run together in a blur? I thought the only reason we all know what "tempus fugit" means is that it's been so true for so long. But - at least for me - tempus dragit is more like it (how's that for five years of Latin?) and I feel as though I will rot and mold before next week even manages to show up.
I have absolutely no symptoms, except for the sore PIO boob effect. No nausea, no dizziness. I am still bloaty and blob-waisted, and I've been exhausted by mid-afternoon for the last few days... I want so badly to take those as actual signs of continued well-being, but I definitely had those problems before my last miscarriage.
I was recently at an appointment with an educational psychologist (to discuss my daughter's ongoing misery at the idea of going to school) and she asked me if I was going to have any more children. I was so unprepared for that question at the time that I'm sure whatever I managed to say had all kinds of odd implications. I think I said something like "Well, you never know...", but honestly I can't remember.
People used to ask me that all the time, back when my daughter was still really young. Now that she's ten I guess it seems obvious that we either can't or don't want to have any others. These days I'm more likely to get comments about the hazards of raising an only child. Which is even worse than the baby questions, because someone may not know that we have infertility issues, but it's certainly clear that we can't go back in time and create siblings.
So, another week will crawl by. I know that the bottom line is that there is no way to second guess any of this. It is what it is. I just hope that it is what I want it to be, too.