This weekend was good and bad. Good because we had a great time in Atlanta, the Saints beat the Panthers and the Falcons lost to the Packers. YAY! I got some good quality time with the Mister, plus some rest on yesterday. We launched the newest, hardest released EVAH on Saturday morning, and when I weighed last night, I was down 4lbs! Sweet!
So, on with the bitter. Sometimes being happy just gets tiring, know what I mean? I feel like I have to put on this happy face all the time and I am not doing so well with it these days. I'm not doing so well at all.
Mr. Mc and I were discussing the fall football games, and the Saints play the Falcons in New Orleans the day after Christmas. Mc wants to go. I do, too, but ya know, suddenly I was hit hard by the fact that we were supposed to have our baby with us this Christmas. It hurt. Badly. I thought I had been doing so well. Not anymore. I've cried the last 2, now 3, days. It's getting closer and I'm not sure how I am going to deal with it. I'm not sure I am strong enough.
I've realized that I have been consciously, or maybe even sub-consciously, filling my schedule with things, attempting to stay busy. Like, maybe I can convince myself that I was too busy to have a baby anyway. If I can stay away from home until almost time for bed, I am just too busy, right? If I never have a weekend free...
I am probably inadvertantly doing myself more harm than good. I know this is what the whole marathon thing is about. My knees are killing me, but still I run. It's like I want to punish my body for giving out on me before. Stupid, right?
I hate this. And there really isn't anyone to talk to about it. There's nothing that can be changed anyway. I'm a mess.
As the air becomes more crisp, the leaves begin to change and fall, and the football season continues, one thing becomes painfully clear.
We were supposed to have a baby this Christmas.
