I got a lot of dwarfs over here.  In addition to the regulars like Dopey, Weepy and Sleepy, occasionally Grumpy, and occasionally Happy, say hello to Crampy, Urpy and Freaky.  Crampy is the bad-ass head dwarf.  In earlier posts I said the cramps were going away but they’re not.  I awoke from some wild nimba dreams last night (more about that in a minute) and Crampy was all up In There.  Sheer terror gripped me, this could be the beginning of my now 3-days-late period, and goodbye Snow White, hello Rose Red.  My particular variant on the "poking your bbs to see if they hurt so much that they start to hurt" has to do with energetic wiping in terror of the Red Menace.  During this middle-of-the-night contretemps I thanked God for my friend Pam, (not that I don’t thank God for Pam all the time) who told me that when pregnant with one of her sons, having cramps so bad she was "doubled over" was an early sign.  I lay awake trying to breathe and not panic and thinking "Pam was doubled over, Pam was doubled over" as some kind of calming mantra.  And all is white and well.

For whatever reason, God chose to make a pregnancy sign and a "you’re about to get your period" sign EXACTLY THE SAME THING.  Thanks!  Putting that on my "What were You thinking?" list, which is actually getting quite long, to chat about with God when I see Him.  Not sure how I’m going to take that list with me by the way; maybe in heaven my memory will be better.  It is crap now, I’ll tell you that. 

What was I saying? 

Because the cramps do come and go but they’re a little stronger this week than last.  I had unwisely decided how I thought the cramps should act but they are hell-bent on doing their own thing.  Another funny thing, not exactly funny ha-ha but more like funny nudging-me-closer-to-splintering-insanity, is that the doctors and Medical People have this way of asking about symptoms that is tricksy.  Both my acupuncturist and the IVF coordinator at my clinic have initiated this dialogue with me:

Them:  How are you feeling?

Me: (unwilling to spill details about symptoms just yet) Oh, fine. 

Them: No cramps, spotting…?

Me:  (proudly) Oh yes. (suddenly filled with doubt as context suggests that cramps and spotting are bad) … I mean, I’ve had some cramping… (suddenly doubting all positive aspects of cramping since it’s WHAT I HAVE)… but they’re kind of weird cramps… kind of light… (trying to salvage hope) (brightly) No spotting though!  (suddenly suspecting that spotting is The Thing to Have, NOT cramping, since I have never been a spotter)

Them:  (completely uninterpretable) Ahhhh.

Then starting yesterday Freaky showed up.  Freaky and Weepy are sort of evil twins.  I went to Trader Joe’s, scene of many, many infertility-related defeats since it’s my grocery store, and everyone knows ALL PREGNANT WOMEN and WOMEN WITH CUTE KIDS are at the grocery store ALL THE TIME.  Especially in the daytime, which is when I go.  But I was feeling happy and triumphant because I just felt so damn pregnant.  At the little counter in the back where they hand out samples, the food they were offering slightly repulsed me (hello, Urpy) so I passed it by.  A slight twinge of nausea mixed with excitement!  Weird!  Different!  Different is good.  And so it was that at the register I found out that since my total was an even number ($63.00), I won a big box of fancy cookies.  O the joy!  At that point I knew that I was having a biiiig mood swing, because I was so happy you would have thought it was the lottery.  I almost cried from the joy of those cookies and could not shake the idea that I had somehow earned them.  I called friends on the way home to tell them about my big cookie win.  Nobody picked up which is good.  My friends have actual lives.   

Now – about the cookie thing – I’m not the only one.  My friend C. has been known to do a "cookie dance" (I have seen it) and she, I am sure, would have busted a move right there at the cash register at TJ’s.  For me, cookies are like currency.  You could purchase my piano or my car from me with cookies if you caught me in the late afternoon and the cookies were homemade. 

Then later I went calmly to discuss with my dear husband a minor transgression and within seconds was having one of those shaking, sobbing-from-the-gut, wailing, you-don’t-love-me, wiping snot on my sleeve kind of emotional storms that was a little bit more extreme than the situation warranted (but I can’t help thinking it may be an effective deterrent).  I capped off the emotional weirdness with a whole bunch of dreams: weird sex dreams, junior high dreams where large amounts of people decided they didn’t like me anymore, and my specialty dream of late: the Phantom Shot dream.  In which I wake in a panic that there is one shot I forgot to give myself, and without it either I or the (maybe) baby will die.  Phantom Shot is a variation on Phantom Task, a dream I’ve had forever, and it features a long not-lucid time where I’m awake but convinced the dream is real and I have to figure out what I didn’t do or I’ll die.  My cherished husband is a pro at being awakened from a sound sleep by my frantic search for whatever it is I think I need, and talking me back to reality. 

The emotional tenor of all dreams was just as hysterical as I felt while awake, so I now feel kind of werewolf-y, like I turned into a monster during the night and roamed the city doing unspeakable things and even though I’m back in human form I’m exhausted and don’t know why I have all this dirt between my toes.

Freaky is in the house.

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