Last night while I snuggled down in my flannel pjs, Nate started playfully thrusting his hips in my general direction. I love my husband & normally, I am all about the marital act & the glories that accompany it. But what I wanted to scream last night was “MY VAGINA IS BLEEDING LIKE A STUCK PIG, SO I WILL THANK YOU TO KEEP YOUR SPOOGING PENIS AWAY FROM IT.” Effective, sure, but I found the response of giving him a wet willie in his left ear both effective & equally childish. Take that, sucker.

So yes, AF is here, wreaking havoc upon my pelvic region. The cramping is bad, the bleeding is worse, but it’s nothing I cannot survive with my trusty flask of gin. I am simply thankful she reared her ugly face in the allotted time before the OB would insist on injecting me with hormones. I find myself a wee bit on edge at this time, but mostly because a hell-raising period is just ONE MORE notch in the Belt of Life’s Eternal Suckfest. I might close my office door & scream “HOLY SHIT CAKE-WALKING DONKEY BALLS” simply because I had this idea that insanity becomes sanity when it is public. And because I know my coworker appreciates false profanity.

ahhh, yes….Blair is slightly emotionally unstable today. Because on top of AF, if my mother tells me one more time that I am too sensitive about losing the baby, I’ll throat punch her, I SWEAR TO GOD & HIS HOLINESS.

I need a martini to chug. NOW.

On top of being unstable & apparently “over-sensitive,” I spent the lazy Sunday afternoon with the most adorable, doe-eyed, chubby little twin girls.

Six month old twins.

Harpie would have been six months old next Christmas.

::breathe in, breathe out:: I thought it might be a little tough, but honestly, I barely thought of the pain while I was with them. I thought of Harpie a little, but enjoyed grilling their mom about her favorite baby products, formula, & her exact opinion on BPA-free vs glass bottles. It kept my mind busy, I suppose. Busy enough to drown any emotion that could potentially bubble to the surface, which worked conveniently considering we were in massive amounts of company, and me sobbing into an infant’s chubby cheeks would have been…well, dramatic to say the least. We said our goodbyes, I climbed into the car…

..and lost my shit completely. le sigh. I’m crying a lot in my car these days, aren’t I? Once I was removed from the girls, I felt surrounded by my baby. Surrounded by the loss & the milestones Harpie will never reach. And more selfishly, I felt surrounded by MY loss and NATE’s loss. Not what our baby will miss, but what WE will miss. We will miss saving ornaments from chubby fingers next year, and fascination with Christmas lights. We will miss correcting my mother as she attempts to smuggle sweet tea into Harpie’s bottle. We will miss getting to show off that precious, interactive stage during the holidays. I hate that Harpie will miss Christmas on Earth, but what I hate even worse is that I will miss Harpie’s first Christmas on Earth.

::sigh:: Sometimes I write this outpouring of emotion & selfish bitterness, and then I feel like the steam completely burns out of me & I deflate. There is still a chance that we will have a baby next Christmas — believe me, I already plugged in the dates & should we get pregnant this cycle, our EDD would be 10/4/09. An October baby! I may still hang a third stocking, and purche a baby outfit for a Christmas service. There may still be baby toys under our tree & Harpie Jr.’s face may grace the Christmas card.

There is still so much to look forward to with hope, that I cannot keep looking forward with frustration.