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Day 186

Updated: Jun 26, 2019

If my primary care physician tells me one more time that my clock is ticking, I’m going to break him the news that he’s not my time. Since Constance passed, my doctor has told me six times that now would be a great time for me to get pregnant.

The preconception genetic test I recently did requires a doctor’s signature to order. In a turnaround that would have given Alain Geiser whiplash, my doctor said, “You’re still young. You have time,” when he signed the tests order form. I didn’t argue his point. He continued, “You know, you may be rewarded with two or three children at once.” I knocked on the counter beside me and said, “That sounds expensive.” Looking at my wildly overpriced purse, he said, “You can afford it.” I didn’t point out that the two aren’t mutually exclusive.

When Constance was alive, her father didn’t want any more children. Now that Constance passed, his opinion hasn’t changed. He is the Cat in the Hat of children. He doesn’t want kids in his car; he doesn’t want them at the bar. He doesn’t want them on his plane; he doesn’t want them on his train.

I did not want to be pregnant now. I am grieving Constance by crying daily, trying to sell my house, changes in my employment, lack of a co-parent, etc. This was not optimal baby-having time. It is nice to think that I could be a parent again even though the ideal time was was eight years ago when Constance was born.


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Membro desconhecido
18 de set. de 2018



Membro desconhecido
17 de set. de 2018

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