I've always been able to pull myself together before, but the usual reasons don't seem to matter this time around. My nice, please everyone, take care of things side has disappeared entirely.
The house is clean and dinner is on the table most nights, but the main force behind everything is J. The poor guy works really, really hard and comes home to the Miss Havisham of the baby loss world. And normally that would shame me enough to make me do something besides all of this nothing, but my responsible adult side is nowhere to be found and my teenage side could care less.
J is taking all of this in stride. He says things like, "You're not super functional, you will have to pull yourself together when the baby comes," but for the most part he is calmly accepting of my descent into the dark place, which is really quite remarkable. I would be yanking the covers off, prodding him to do something besides mope, and demanding answers if he started behaving this way.
I haven't been paying much attention to this pregnancy. I'll be twelve weeks tomorrow. How in the world is time progressing so quickly? I thought I would cherish every moment, be happy to be pregnant again, grateful, joyous, but most of the time I'm cranky, anxious, and weepy.
J thinks all of this crazy is stemming from the fact that I have said on numerous occasions that I get one year to fall apart. And since that one year is quickly winnowing down to two months, which will become one, and then, naturally, zero, I am panicking about the time strictures. Oh, he's so wise isn't it? But, truth be told, he's probably right.