The mind-numbing shock of the positive is wearing off, replaced by the heart-numbing fear of what we'll see on the ultrasound monitor this Wednesday. The unreality of success has been surpassed by the terror of loss. Having something to lose is much more difficult than I would have guessed.
I keep setting the bar at different heights--I'll believe it if this scan is good, I'll believe it when I start to show, I'll believe it after the level-two ultrasound, I'll believe it when she starts to kick--careening drunkenly from elation to depression, an emotional pinball.
Jeff still talks fearlessly of "when" and wants to make plans already, buy things, build things. Talking with him as we lay in the dark and imagine together what will be (for me: what might be, what could be) fills my head with a bittersweet lust.
I'm not sure how to proceed. I know how lucky I am to have gotten here. I am truly thankful. But I'm also afraid.