The one week wait. My least favorite time. Especially when I actually have hope.
I'm still trying very hard to have the faith of Jairus, and the woman who asked Jesus to heal her daughter. I feel in my heart that I have asked, and I shall receive. But after 31 months (is it really 31 months???), I can't say this has been an easy transition to make. I feel like one of those cartoons, with the angel version of me on my right shoulder, and the devil version of me on my left. And the nagging devil is constantly whispering in my ear that I'm crazy. Why would I believe that I'm pregnant after all this time? But the angel reminds me that I have legions of angels working for me- my grandma and grandpa and DH's, St. Ann, Therese, Jude, Gerard, and Anthony. I need to believe. I need to believe that this is my time.
I don't feel physically any different. It's so hard to look for "symptoms" when so many of the common early pg symptoms are actually symptoms of high levels of progesterone. And we know I have high progesterone, since I have THREE corpus lutei. So, yes, my bbs are more sore than they've ever been and they hurt even while walking. Yes, I'm exhausted. Yes, I am eating and peeing a lot. And yes, I'm a little constipated. But nothing that I haven't experienced before in the post-Peak phase.
I suppose that this final week is an ultimate test of my patience and reliance on God. Do I fully trust Him? Am I fully putting this in His hands, or am I even now trying to control it, when there's obviously nothing more I can do 8 days past ovulation.
So I will let this go. I will give it over to Jesus, and His holy Mother, and the promise my grandmother left me with when I asked if she would "pick one out for me" when she got to paradise. I need to smile when I remember that her response was, "One of each would be nice, wouldn't it?"