AF, of course, visited for my vacation. That was lovely – especially seeing how it was a heavier period than pre-pregnancy normal, so that caused a bit of a distraction as I had to keep running to the bathroom. It’s almost over, I think – but not quite.

I have been frequently “checking in” with myself mentally to see how I’m doing. (I do that a lot lately, in order to monitor my moods, make sure my medication is working, and catch any bad cycles before they spin out of control.) I was a little worried that there would be a negative emotional backlash to me getting AF, so I was waiting for it. It never really came. Sure there was a very large mental sigh of, Shit, this again. I liked not having to deal with this crap. But nothing worse than that.

I actually think the overwhelming emotion is relief. I was starting to get a tad worried that my body was even more fucked up than it was before and it was going to play games with me and not cycle properly. I didn’t mind waiting, as long as it worked itself out. So seeing the proof that things are resolving is definitely a relief. I’m definitely looking forward to my hormones settling back down, this post-partum hormone crash has done shit for my body.

I am of course a little bit disappointed that I’m not pregnant, because of course the longer I had to wait for AF the more a started wondering if maybe, just maybe… But I actually think there’s a part of me that’s relieved that I’m not. That was a little surprizing to me – okay, maybe more than a little – when I realized it. A lot of that frantic need has gone away. I spent many weeks desperate to be pregnant again, right now, sort of as a way to heal what was hurting. I couldn’t have my son back, but at least I could have pregnancy back. Not an entirely healthy mindset, I know that, but try telling that to someone who just wants something, anything, to help heal the hurt. But now, 10 weeks out, I find myself slowly coming to terms with my body as it is. Do I want to be pregnant again? Hell yeah. I look forward to it. But I am getting used to being “just me.” I find myself enjoying the little things I wasn’t able to do while pregnant (a White Russian now and then; cold ham sandwiches; roller coasters). Fair trade? Hardly. But it’s what I have right now. Part of my healing is accepting that and somehow finding peace with my own body. I am far from happy with it – I have a long ways to go, not just in weight (which is slowly getting closer to my goal), but also in accepting that things have shifted and not everything is going to be able to be “fixed” like the number on the scale.

On one of my forums I made a concious decision to start my journal in the “life after loss” section, as opposed to the “TTC” section. My focus in life has shifted. I was totally, completely adrift for a while – and I suppose I still will be as I sort things out. But I find that things are settling into patterns that are not what I expected. I find myself building up not what was torn down, but something new. It’s strange and it’s unexpected (to me), and in many ways I want to have some time to figure out who I am now. Getting pregnant – and the timing of the pregnancy – will greatly affect where I’m going and to some degree affect who I am at that point in time. But this new me, I feel like I don’t really know her yet. I can’t predict her good days or bad days, and it feels more like having a conversation with a stranger than myself.

I now apparently like to garden. (You can peek into my flickr for photos of my garden, as well as photos from Las Vegas.) I have never, ever had any desire to garden. Maybe a brief desire for some pretty flowers that quickly fled at the first notion of having to actually dig in dirt and go outside in the sun to accomplish it. I’ve always been steadfast in telling Den that the outside is his job, the inside is mine. My dad and relatives (many of whom are gardeners) would mention gardens and I’d wave them off with a laugh. Not me, I’d say. Those genes skipped me.

And now here I stand. I’ve planted a veggie garden and am finding an astonishingly large amount of pleasure in watching things grow. Even the work of plucking out the weeds and rocks in preparation for planting I don’t mind. Sometimes I’ll go out back just to check on things and will find myself whiling away time clearing out another area for something new to plant. My thoughts frequently drift to my garden: how to improve it next year; where I can add on to make room for another row; what flowers would be a nice complement to the veggies. Suddenly this garden has become an honest hobby of mine, and I’m still standing a little bit shocked by it. It is not something I ever would have predicted, there was no moment of, “Well I need a hobby, so let’s try gardening.” I just had an urge to plant some peas. That’s all. I just wanted some peas, like my dad used to have in his veggie garden. I figured I’d plant them, lose interest, they’d die, and that would be the end of that. But my garden is now sprawling over half the length of our house! It has peas, beans, cucumbers, tomatos, the peppers died and need to be re-planted when it’s warmer, and I’m trying to figure out how to fit in strawberries and maybe some carrots.

In a way I think the gardening is an outlet for this motherly instinct of mine, this connection with all things growing. My favorite part is by far planting a little seed in the ground and checking back daily as it emerges from the earth, growing and changing right before my eyes. I got positively giddy when Den called me one day to tell me that he had found little tiny cucumber buds long after I had presumed them dead. I don’t find myself getting upset over the ones that don’t make it, either. Another one of my false predictions: I figured things would die, I’d get emotional, feel defeated and quit. But I’m taking it rather in stride. Okay, so the peppers didn’t like whatever I did. What did I do wrong? What can I do differently next time? I go to the store to buy another packet of seeds for $1.50 and try again. (I do, however, get angry with the dogs when they are idiots and run through my garden when I’m not paying attention to how slack their leash is, I have to be careful when I’m holding it. Because you know, while I’m walking the dogs I get distracted trying to check on a plant and there goes Zoe, trotting through my beans, and she’s all, “Plants? What plants? Why are you yelling? Here, eat some grass.”)

Besides the connection to growing things, I also realized that gardening is something new and different in my life. It’s a hobby that has no connections in my head to a time when I had a baby on the way. There are no memories. It is a part of my new life, my time with myself as I am today. I find solace in that.

My job hunt is also a part of this new life of mine. A new focus, a new direction. When I was TTC the first time I didn’t want to get a job because I could get pregnant at any time. I wanted all my ducks in a row for the pregnancy, for the baby. Foolishness, in a way… I held myself back from life because of maybes. Of course it is hindsight that tells me that I had 21 months before even getting pregnant, and my view at the time wasn’t nearly so clear. But still. Now I am facing the same kind of uncertainty and my choice is different. Part of it is not wanting to bank on something that has not happened, may not happen anytime soon. Part of it is wanting to be more financially prepared this time.

That’s what it all comes back to. My relief with AF is grounded in the idea that now I have more time to prepare – prepare my body, prepare my soul, prepare our house and our life. I will welcome a pregnancy whenever it comes; but every month I am not pregnant is another month I have to prepare for it. Yes, for now I am content to wait.

Life after Devin, that’s what this is. It is wholly, completely different than life before Devin. It’s like watching things float to the surface in a lake… I really don’t know how this is going to turn out, what shape things are going to take. I feel a lot like an observer, watching to see where I’m going to go. Maybe I’ll find answers in my gardens.