Growing up, I was told that Friday the 13th was good luck for Jewish people. Not sure if that was something my mom made up or something the "chosen" people told each other since we could use any optimism that we could get. For years, I would see the 13th fall on a Friday and think, "Ha! Unlucky for you, suckers! But very lucky for me!"
Today, I realized there was no reason to be so smug. The 13th is just a date like any other. It's not lucky nor unlucky. You see, today I found out that once again, I am not pregnant. Which means I won't be pregnant on Allie's first birthday. Which means I won't have a baby this calendar year. Which means I am further and further away from my dream.
I never thought THIS part of our journey was going to be so hard. I was prepared for the 9 months of fear and worry after we conceived, but I never thought that getting pregnant was going to be a challenge for us. As much as I know it's not true, I feel like a failure as a woman, a wife, and even a mother.
I saw more signs this month than I ever saw before. A butterfly in the driveway. A rainbow after a storm. I was pretty sure that this was our month. But I suppose I feel that way every month.
I am getting good and picking myself up and putting the pieces back together and with the love and support of so many, there is not much work for me to do at all but let them take care of me. And yet I still feel sad.
So I will end this short little sad post today by saying that I sure hope that this Friday the 13th was lucky for someone out there. Somehow that might make me feel better.