It goes almost without saying that level of disappointment is directly related to the level of expectation or enthusiasm prior to the event which caused said disappointment. Wow, that was a mouthfull. What exactly am I trying to say? Oh hell, I’ll just say it. We’ve had three miscarriages in the last year and a half. After that many I would think any normal person would tend to temper their expectations a bit, and I am no exception. Well, imagine something coming along to pump the situation with enthusiasm once again. In this case, Cheryl came home with twin smudges on an ultrasound. (For those of you out there I didn’t tell in person, please take no offense.) I know, I know – there’s nothing worse than being excited again, is there? Sarcasm aside – in the back of my mind I was afraid that I was being set up for another big fall. Well the big fall hasn’t quite come, but we seem to be teetering on the precipice. Cheryl had her weekly check-up and they didn’t find evidence of a heart beat. They qualified it by saying this has happened before (at her stage of pregnancy) and they still saw the heart beat later – with an eventual healthy delivery. At the same time, they were not overly enthusiastic either.

Alas, the emotional roller continues. I must be a glutton for punishment, but I hope it continues for the next seven months and beyond. If it doesn’t it means my newly acquired expectations will have let me down. Again.

Who out there hasn’t toiled with the masses for hours on end, only to go home and lie back as close to horizontal as possible and still be able to face the T.V.? What greater feeling is there than knowing you’re obligation free for the next two hours? When you were growing up did you appreciate the value of two hours? At what point did doing nothing for two hours go from torture to heavenly bliss? Is that something else that changes with puberty? Does growing more body hair have anything to do with it, or is it just coincidence?