I'll be honest. I can't get out of this blogging limbo I find myself in. I don't really have much to say, and even on the rare occasion that I do, I don't know if I want to say it. There are feelings to be hurt, fragile emotions to shatter, and I don't want to be that IF blogger. I know I rambled on and on about this a couple of months ago, but I anticipated that things would change and I would grow into this new role a bit better than I have.
Oddly enough, I only want to talk about this pregnancy with IFers and "recovering" IFers. Normal pregnant and formerly pregnant women need not apply. Problem is - a lot of those IFers aren't interested, and I understand that. Nonetheless, it doesn't make pregnant blogging any easier. I'm on the cusp of either being completely open about it all and saying fuck it, or going AWOL for lengthy periods of time just to avoid the hassle.
That said, I'll just throw in my pregnancy-related update here. I had my first proper scan on Friday and saw Enid in all of his/her arms-and-legs-flailing glory. I've likened his/her frantic actions to a manic rope climb in gym class, and The Dude and I have been staging frequent reproductions in our front room to entertain ourselves. I have two photos to commemorate the occasion - one with rounded baby head and body quite clearly visible, and another featuring Enid as Skeletor. It ain't pleasant, but the closet goth in me enjoys showing my skeleton baby to relatives to freak them out.
So there it is. I'm 16 weeks today and slowly getting used to the idea that there might be a baby in my own personal fucked up uterus. I am not quite believing that it will result in a live baby, and certainly not a live, healthy baby, but there could be something flip-flopping around in there. See, pregnancy does not kill off the infertile inside us all. I have a feeling I will be harbouring dead baby thoughts well into any child's teenage years. Limbo is always going to be close at hand.