I’m going to talk about menstruation. Just so you know, in case you want to skip this one.
The other day I noticed pink on my toilet paper. Put on a pad (cloth of course!), but saw nothing else for — a whole day? two days?
I’ve never had that experience before.
I can’t remember when my last period was — January, but when?
Could I be… (gasp, shudder, freak) …pregnant?
Maybe it was some weird early pregnancy spotting. Or a really early miscarriage. I have no idea.
What would happen if we’re pregnant?
PPD is likely again — if you’ve had it once, you’re more likely to have it again, and especially if you already have a history of depression and anxiety.
Sleep deprivation is absolutely certain again. And that was the catalyst that tipped my anxiety into full panic and sent me back to the hospital and made me barely able to share the same space as my baby for more than an hour or two at a time.
Mark doesn’t have the kind of job where he could just take a month off to help again.
And my therapist — the only one I’ve ever been able to really talk to and be helped by — is dead.
Yeah, maybe it would be completely different this time. Maybe I would be fine.
Or maybe it would be different but worse. Amy was actually a pretty easy baby.
So, as you can imagine, last night I had a hard time settling into sleep. I was too busy freaking out about possibly being pregnant.
I did eventually sleep. And in the wee hours, when I woke still anxious, I went ahead and peed on the stick.
And this morning? Real menstruation.
This is yet another reason to ask Mark to go for the vasectomy, and yet I still worry that it’s lack of faith (in general) and not wisdom that is driving that idea.
Wisdom. Yeah, wisdom.
And then I read this, from Joe.