Wrangling the human condition

So exasperated!  Moved to tears even, and that doesn't happen very often.  When Seth was in the Navy, it would take two and a half months of being alone to move me to a convincing set of tears.  Now it takes two weeks of believing that I might have been pregnant, followed by a negative test and the beginning of that thing that ends my hopes every other month at least. 

I hate my body, and not because of its shape or its consistency.  I hate it because it plays tricks on me.  It feeds me lies like swollen breasts, waves of fatigue, nausea, tenderness, increased potty frequency, and enhanced sense of smell for two weeks, and then it drops me right back on the doorstep of starting all over.  The fact that going through one's period is uncomfortable is just adding insult to injury, reminiscent of the time there was some one, and they didn't stay.  Why, why, why did you tell me I was pregnant?  Didn't I do everything you asked me to?  Didn't I exercise regularly and eat all the healthy foods that the video diet plan required?  Didn't I get enough sunshine and sleep?  Was I not drinking enough milk?  What did I leave out that inspired you to put me through this ringer again? 

I honestly believe that I could be happy the rest of my life having only one child if only my body would stop pretending to be pregnant every couple of months.  If out of season symptoms didn't send my hopes skyrocketing and kick my baby planning glands into gear, I would be fine.  Last time, Seth and I joked about names.  This month, the symptoms were so complete that we were thinking about how to turn our workout room into a nursery.  Even he was getting a little giddy, and he's used to my flights of hormonal fancy. 

When we lost baby Blessed last August, the doctors told me that another baby should be coming along "any time in the next six months." "Just trust your body and let it settle down."  Right.  I can't trust my body.  My body doesn't know one end of itself from the other.  None of the indicators that should be attached to states are attached to the states which they ought to indicate.  I'm still nauseated.  I'm still tired, I'm downright hysterical, and my bras don't fit.  My body let my baby die, and now, every other month at least I spend two weeks thinking  "Is this real?  Is it going to turn into something?  Will it continue?  And if it doesn't, does that mean there was no one there, or did I lose someone again?"  It's not personal, obviously.  How can a body intend things personally against its person?  But it's so easy to see it that way.  Why do I have to hope so much?  Why can't I just roll with providence and see where it takes me?  Why all this jerking on a chain I can't ignore because it literally runs up the middle of me?