genetic testing

i have no idea what to do about genetic testing. I'm so anxious about this. I'm going to have to just ask my doctor when I see her next week, no need to turn myself inside out over it. But I'm amazed to be at such a loss.

I'm a cockeyed optimist to the bone, despite my deeply cynical veneer. (heh heh, i said cock and bone. and deeply.) I am always convinced everything's going to be puppy-dog fine. Just knew I'd get pregnant naturally. When I didn't, I just knew the first IUI would work. Now I'm sure everything will be groovy, because looking back over my life, the good news seems to have outweighed the disasters.

But this might just be how I look at it. I can easily look back over the same life and get myself very depressed over my career, my relationships with my family (too far away!), the wreckage of my romantic life (sure, I'm happy now, but what was wrong with me for so long -- and how long can I keep this healthy-relationship thing up?!) ... there's plenty that I could be upset about.

The thing is, as I said to someone the other day, I'm just tired of feeling anxious and freaked out and sad all the time. There's no romance in it for me, now that it almost destroyed me. When things seem to be going wrong, as when my numbers refused to properly double, I am really, really good at shoving that doubt. way down and piling Fig Newtons on top of it. My therapist says, "But where'd it go?" and I say "Mmfff ufmsfdmffff." It bubbles up every couple of weeks and I frantically text-message my fiance from the back row of the synagogue while trying to remember how to pray in ACTUAL HEBREW FOR EXTRA PRAYER POWER. Then in passes, and I'm back to carrying groceries up the stairs, saying, "What? It's not that heavy. I'm fine!"

So when it comes to the genetic testing, I trust the universe more than I trust myself. That is, I believe the baby is ok more than I believe my choice to stick a needle (a needle, people) into my uterus would be correct. I have made so many bad choices in my life, and yet life still keeps treating me well... maybe I should just let life make the choices.

Okay, I know that sounds insane because it is. I'm going to have to do a shitload of tests, and I'm going to have a long talk with my doctor about which ones I can eighty-six, with how much risk. I just wish there were a book like "taking charge of your fertility," only called "taking charge of your pregnancy." Frankly, "what to expect" makes me nervous and "the girlfriend's guide" makes me hurl. I just want Toni Weschler to tell me what to do.

I mean, I'll figure it out, but blurg. It makes me dizzy.

In more first-trimester fashion news: I went to Ross last night and got three eight-dollar tank tops with plenty o' room in the old belly area. Of course, they also flaunt the fact that the Boob Fairy has been to visit (and visit and visit and VISIT), but I've decided that's a sufficient tradeoff: as my middle thickens and I get more self-conscious, I let my bosoms blossom to deflect the attention. That's just good thinkin'!