I am tired.
No. Tired is inadequate; exhausted is overused.
Perhaps spent is more appropriate.
Those who know us know our lives are rather… erhm, full. Some seasons, full is oppressive; others, it’s beautiful – satisfying, even.
Last year we lived the first; this year we’ve seen glimpses of the second.
The difference? What we’ve chosen as our… fillers.
Seven years ago this month, I was counting down the weeks till Noelle’s birth, anxious to be delivered of the extra weight, anxious to get my body back.
I was tired of sharing my heart, my blood, my kidneys, my uterus. I was tired of being host to an ever-growing parasite. I wanted my parts back. I wanted to support my own life functions, and not anyone else’s.
I know. The naivete is crushingly hilarious.
So, last weekend the thought occurred to me that this ‘prolactinoma’ they’re wondering if I have – which would be evidenced by high prolactin levels – could actually be something else. Something very different. Something very happy.
There was a simple way to find out.
I took a test.
And, for a moment, it looked positive. Then, I noticed something else.
Must have been a false positive. Because I was definitely NOT pregnant.
But when I told all this to David, I paused in between the false positive and the NOT pregnant part. His face contorted in a mixture of horror and humor.
‘Well, our babies have never really been, um… planned.’ he said.
Noelle was a pleasant surprise. Elliana was a whirlwind of, oh, this again, already?
And when I look back on it, Elliana may have been the trigger that made me really sick. Read more