Moving On

It’s been a week since my dad’s funeral.

Unfortunately all the well-intended advice was true. When he did eventually pass away, it was a horrible shock. I never believed that something we had been anticipating for more than 8 weeks could still be a shock. The only thing I can think of is that life adapts along the way into a strange place where terminal illness becomes part of everyday life. Then it ends and there’s nothing there to take it’s place.

A funeral is a great farewell – sad and sometimes hard – a necessary moment in time.

Then life goes on.

This isn’t a concept any of us are unfamiliar with – those ‘us’ that have been dealing with IF and the wretchedness that often accompanies failed cycles and miscarriage/s – while life rolls merrily along for everyone else.

Both Mr. S and I also managed to pick up stinking colds along the way, so that our days on return were spent staring at Wimble.don match replays.

A surprise at my recent Ob appt. – ‘no weight gain this month’ the nurse said.

I really think she’s reading the scales wrong – I don’t think she waits for the needle to stop moving.

On the other hand, I’ve never really been sure about my weight in recent years due to back to back IVF cycles. So what my real starting weight was is somewhere within 2-3 kilos.

‘It’s not a problem’ the doctor reassured me ‘as long as the bump is growing’.

Okay then.

Because it is.