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Yep, so there goes the optimism.
I got home last night after a particularly long workday. Thursdays tire me out, for a number of different reasons. I had very few things on my agenda for the evening, and planned to make it an easy, early night.
Around 7:30, as I was in the kitchen making myself some dinner (the Husband had, apparently, already eaten--he's been "working from home" this week), and I asked him, since the phone hadn't yet rung, what time his mom was supposed to meet with our prospective buyer. He said, without even looking up from the TV, "Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot to tell you. She called and canceled."
I took a deep breath. "That was kind of important news to share, don't you think?"
"Yeah. I just forgot. She's still planning to do another open house on Sunday, though."
"Also sort-of important to share, don't you think? Since I didn't KNOW she was planning to be here on Sunday?"
"Well, did you have other plans?"
"Not the point."
The sandwich sat, unwanted, on the counter. I walked into the bedroom, arranged myself in a modified yoga child pose, one of the few ways I find myself comfortable these days, and cried.
He came in. "What are you doing?"
"Fighting my panic level. And you?"
He had no response to that. He stood there for a few minutes, waiting for me to do something else. When I didn't, he turned and went back into the living room, where some random home improvement show beckoned.
I hit a low point last night. For the first time, I found myself thinking that I'm sorry I got pregnant in the first place. I questioned why we even got married. I looked at my life and realized that I really, really hated that moment. And I had no control over improving it.
I can't make someone buy the condo. I can't give the Husband a new job. Hell, I can't even get him to talk to me. And I can't find a way to lay down that makes me comfortable for more than a few minutes. We have no plan. We have very few options. And we have seven weeks to my due date.
Not my favorite night ever, I really have to say.
I've spent every waking minute since then apologizing to the baby for thinking ill thoughts about him. Apparently, maternal guilt is an inborn instinct.
And now, I've got to go shower and put on my happy face. It may take a while, so you'll have to excuse me...
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