Once upon a time, I was surprised to find out I was pregnant. I had had a Mirena IUD placed (Yeah, I’m naming names.), it fell out, I had another one put back in and all was well… until I found out that either my cervix spit it out and I didn’t know, my uterus swallowed it OR my brand new fetus had disposed of it in some way.
Eventually, I accepted C as a blessing, but I spent a lot of time crying, whining, fuming and generally being crazy.
Recently, someone close to me had a very similar thing happen to her. I offered her my full support and vividly remembered exactly how I had felt. After I had finished breathing into a paper bag, I took a closer look at this girl. Her news wasn’t public knowledge yet, but I could clearly picture her politely telling well wishers that she was feeling “OK, just a little tired” and I remembered doing the same.
Also, any adjectives I used during this time in reference to myself could be replaced with the word “crazy”.
“Oh my goodness! You’re pregnant with Number Four?! CONGRATS!”
“Thanks. I’m really crazy.”
“Wow! How have you been feeling?”
“Oh, crazy. I’ve been a little bit crazy and slightly crazy.”
“Were you guys trying to get pregnant? I thought you said that 3 was your last one.”
“Well, yeah. We weren’t trying. I just accidentally got crazy. But it’s crazy! I know that it’ll be crazy and I’ll be crazy and the crazy will crazy and crazy mccrazy to craycray mo crazy.”
So, yeah. My friend is crazy and she’s going to remain crazy until the crazy is done being crazy. I was that girl once. It wasn’t awesome… until one day it WAS awesome.
(A freshly-birthed C. The picture is for you, Crazy Eyes. )
When was your last case of the crazy face?