The universe has a FANTASTIC sense of humor. Or something.
I've come to terms with the fact that "If" isn't going to happen. It's just not going to enter my vocabulary because the brain doesn't allow in that which isn't possible. I'm going to keep on living along the River Denial right up until the moment when I'm staring at tiny person sleeping somewhere in this house. ("Somewhere" because the crib will be staying in storage until it grows legs and finds its own way upstairs. Helping it would be like ... believing or something.)
While I'm camped out along the River Denial, I'll be holding my breath.
Literally.
Because HAHAHAHAHAHA, UNIVERSE. YOU SO FUNNY.
Of all the random pregnancy symptoms to get, I drew the "sinus problems" card. Rhinitis. (Side note: follow that link for some hilarity in the form of gender roles and general stupidity.)
About three months ago, I had this exact conversation with my doctor.
"Do you have any concerns?" he asked.
"Um... yeah. I can't breathe." I replied.
"That's normal," Captain Obvious said.
"Um, no. I mean I *really* can't breathe," I said.
"Let me take a look," he answered then followed with, "Wow. You can't breathe."
THAT'S WHAT I SAID, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS. I didn't say that part, but I thought it. I had already gone a month without being able to breathe through my nose at all, so I was really ready for some sort of fantastic advice. Instead, I was told, "I've never seen it quite that bad."
My doctor is no spring chicken, so that's an accomplishment right there. I believe my trophy is in the mail. And by "trophy" I mean the bill for all the things I've tried that haven't worked to make it better.
Anyway, my sinuses have been totally and completely swollen shut for months. It's every bit as fantastic as it sounds and makes me feel absolutely horrible for people who deal with allergies that cause this sort of thing all of the time. Nothing may be working to fix it for me now, but I have a cure on the way. Living with that all of the time? I can't even imagine. It can be downright scary when you have a dream that someone is smothering you with a pillow and then wake up and finally realize you really can't breathe because your 8-year old has her arm across your mouth and what? It's not like that happened.
OK. It did.
So, I get it, Universe. I should be holding my breath. I'll keep right on doing that.