I had one of those vivid dreams last night - so real and true that it has taken me all morning to shake it. Even the most tenacious dream will burn off if you give them enough time, but this one contained physical memory, and somehow that is harder to release. Sort of like olfactory memory. Or maybe more like the ghost limbs that amputees experience. In the dream I was pregnant - and I've had pregnancy dreams before but usually I'm just finding out that I'm pregnant, so there is this letdown when I wake up but nothing physically connective about it. This time I was in labor and the baby was moving. Ghost baby, you know? Really in labor and really moving. And I couldn't find my husband and something was wrong with the baby.
I got up like normal and got Bean to school and as soon as I got back into my car I started to shake. I took some deep breaths and got some coffee and drove across town to Hospice. I managed not to take anything for the anxiety and was actually feeling pretty good about that. I had a dream, it made me feel bad, I feel better now. I called the husband as I left Hospice - not even to talk about the dream, just to tell him good morning and all that - and ended up crying and shaky again. Christ. Just writing about it is making me unstable so it must be important to write about, right?
I am apparently not at all over this whole infertility thing. Not even a little bit.
I am apparently completely stupid for thinking it would be that smooth and easy to let it go.
I am apparently immune to the logic of no babies.
Fact 1: We are stretched way too thin right now to add anything or adjust anything or reposition anything. As a family, our lives are like the bad closet that everyone has that is so full of crap that if you try to move/add/find something it all falls out and you have a great big mess.
Fact 2: I was 21 when Bean was born. If we continue to live with no extra babies my house will be (theoretically) child-free before I am 40.
Fact 3: Babies do not let you sleep. Or have sex. I like sleep. And sex.
Fact 4: There is karma involved. Bean was such a good baby... she slept a lot, never got seriously sick, loved to play by herself and was never picky about food. She was a good-natured baby who made people who didn't want kids want to be her parents. Karma says I can't have another one of those. I must now have a screamer. Better to not test this theory.
Fact 5: Diapers. Seriously.
Fact 6: My yarn and movie budget would necessarily funnel into the diapers and childcare budget.
Logically, a baby now (or any time in the future) would clearly not be smart. Physically, there is no possibility of a pregnancy. Financially it's either new house or adoption, and we need the new house to go forward with an adoption. All of this adds up to no baby.
And I really thought I was ok with this.
I'm not. I'm like an addict who hid a stash of depression in her pillow. I'm using again and I need an intervention.
Intervention:
In the mail today I got yarn. Pretty, softy sock yarn (Wick by Knit One Crochet Too - seriously, try it, it's soy based and I'm feeling all granola about it). I subscribed to one of those sock knitting clubs - now once a month I get new yarn and a new pattern from The Knitter. So far it's been great. I'm exposed to new yarn brands without having to choose between the gazillion types of sock yarn out there. In the two hours since I got here I have almost finished the leg of my sock (it's a shorty one) and am close to the heel. Anxiety knitting. And I have my knitting group tonight, so there will be good conversation and cheesecake and knitting and cheesecake and at this point probably a drink. Oh, and cheesecake.
I don't know what it is about knitting that helps. I don't know why that simple repetition makes it easier to deal with anxiety and stress and depression. I just know that it is soothing and that things that are soothing help me through the day.
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