Sometimes I’m okay.  I laugh.  We have people over.  We hang out.  I’m okay.

Then I’m not okay.  I cry – a lot.  Over things like no toner in the printer, or the dishes in the sink.  I’m waiting for the annoyance over the fact that we have no floor.  (No, we never got a floor.  It was SO IMPORTANT to me on Tuesday, March 3rd, that we find someone to help us install a floor over the very…classy plywood look of our subfloor.  I no longer care that our floor is a subfloor, or that GreatStuff oozes out of every crack in the subfloor (courtesy of DB, sometime during that week prior to Wednesday).)

I have an exam to take on Tuesday.  In biology.  Yes, undergrad bio.  I am taking it for pre-med requirements.

For my mental health, I cannot fail this exam.  At the rate I am going, I am going to not only fail it, I will be failing it in the sub-10% range (I will be clear:  I missed two weeks of class before taking Unisom/B6 for all-damn-day puking, and then did not catch up).  I cannot look at a piece of paper with bio information on it without bursting into tears.

For my mental health, I also cannot drop this class yet.  Not yet.  I cannot have failure characterize every. single. aspect. of my life yet.

I am also taking physics.  Our baby caused me to puke incessantly and totally fail the physics final for the fall semester, which meant I got a really bad grade in physics.  Which, honestly, I did not care about because I figured I would be a mother.  And there would be good, worthy, physical evidence of my 3 months of vomiting.

Except that evidence died.

So right now, no, I’m not doing okay.  I guess I am not being the person I really would like to be, which is someone who trusts God that He needed my baby more than I did, someone who is strong, someone who can move on past this and see hope and a future.  Someone who does not let hormones – and I will be the first to say hormones are totally effing with my head – HORMONES dictate my emotions, my hope, my faith.

Right now, I am having a really tough time finding HOPE and FAITH and it is killing me.  I normally love that verse in Hebrews – “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” (11:1).

But right now, hope is escaping me.

But I have this other verse in my head, too:

“…in all these things we are more conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:37-39

And I just keep thinking that death…does not separate us from God’s love…

And then I think all sorts of things that are not very healthy and not very admirable and frankly should not be written here because oh, yeah, my ego cannot handle reading what I write when I am in the depths – depths! – of depression.

I loved this baby with everything I had, and more.  And I miss her – or him – it is killing me that I do not know whether the baby was a he or a she – I miss her so, so, so, so much.  I miss rubbing my hands on my stomach and thinking that in a week or two, I might be able to feel her kick.  I miss my dog rubbing his head on my stomach.  (No kidding.  It was odd.)

It is effing with my head to have the physical reminders of this pregnancy everywhere – I puked yesterday morning, and almost once a day, if not more.  My sinuses are still completely plugged (a lovely side effect of pregnancy that I didn’t know about until I experienced it).  My boobs are huge.  My waist is still expanded, to make room for something to grow inside.  Some days, I can go back to my pre-pregnancy showering routine (which is wasteful and totally indulgent – I absolutely love showers) and some days, like yesterday, I realize that the hormones are still pumping and I am about to puke with the heat of the shower.

The reminders are EVERYWHERE.

For those who asked, no, date night did not happen.  So sad.  I locked myself out of my house (wearing sweats, a massive sweatshirt, and Crocs) because I went to pick up a box of Girl Scout cookies from my porch.

So I’m sitting on my steps, eating Tagalongs, in 30* weather, (bleeding), thinking about really, how yesterday could have been better.

I had a friend heading in to visit anyway, so when she got to my place, we headed to Starbux to wait for DB to get home.

By the time he got home, I was  That S-bucks trip required more energy/effort than anything I have done in the last 9 days.

So we ordered Indian (like from India) food.

But it wasn’t that good.  Actually, it was really painfully hot because there was a mix-up.

And then I got a really upset stomach.

So basically, the night sucked, thanks for asking 🙂

Tonight we were going to try round 2, but we went for a walk – fresh air does a person good, right? – and I walked the equivalent of 1 NYC block (the street block, not the avenue – let’s be honest about my patheticness here) – and I could barely stand up.

So…we are having taco night, round 2, and renting a chick flick.  (If you have seen a good chick flick recently, and you are, like me, online at 8:00 on a Saturday night, shoot me a comment or something.)

I have no great summary sentence on this one.  I am just really struggling.  I have a post in my head about God, and pride, and I am debating whether to actually publish it, but maybe in a few days.  Or tomorrow.

I am tired.

Although writing this out made me feel better.  (Sorry if it was really depressing.)