Telling

This morning, I get to explain to Dr. BTG why I am such a muppet. I suppose I'm glad I'm going in, as I'll get my routine blood test to make sure all the little hormones are ticking along nicely, but I'm not looking forward to trying to tell him I was positive everything was going wrong because "my boobs didn't feel right." Oy.

Not much to report on the bean front at the mo. I've had to start exclusively wearing some very baggy shirts every day in order not to appear like the monsterous bloated vision that I am in front of my in-laws, whom we haven't notified yet as to my current state of pregatude.

The last time I got pregnant, I got shouted at by my mother-law. In her defense, I had only just taken the job of PA with my father-in-law and she felt that I had just ruined everything when it was working out so nicely. She used words that I'm not likely to forget. Ever. 10 minutes after making me feel worse than I've ever felt in my life, she said she was sorry. And I think she was. Really sorry. But I miscarried 2 weeks later, so the whole thing became a moot point.

Since then, she's gotten sick. And it's hard to be upset with her anymore as she obviously has more than enough of her own problems to deal with. But the fear of telling both her and my f.i.l still remains. What with HER diagnosis and the need for her to be looked after all the time, I think that some of the same feelings might come up with them- "Why are you doing this NOW? Could your timing be any WORSE? Why didn't you talk to US before you starting trying to conceive?". In the end of it all, should I be lucky enough to deliver a live, kicking and screaming baby, I think those thoughts are going to be left far behind and they'll truly celebrate the birth of their first grandchild, but I'm not sure if I'm ready at the moment for their reaction to be, "Great. ANOTHER thing to worry about." when I regard this pregnancy as a blessing.

If it's not one thing, it's another.