My position on positives, if you want to call it that

I've been trying to focus on the positive lately.

I'm positive the van will get stuck at least once more trying to get out of the snowy driveway this week.

I'm positive the tax bill due by the beginning of next month should have given me a coronary, especially considering the credit card bill was nearly the same amount.

I'm positive my kids think 3:30 a.m. is the most perfect time to hit/kick/slap their way to the coveted spot in my bed.

I'm positive we blew the grocery budget this week, and I'm positively not going to worry about it since we had money left over last week.

I'm positive wine is usually the answer when I get in a writing slump, because I tend to suck down several glasses and write like a beast - usually pounding out 2,000 or more words in a shortish amount of time as I pour the words from my soul desperately into a Word document that someday will resemble a paperback.

And I'm positive the book I'm penning is almost done. This one I'm almost as sure of as getting stuck in the driveway.

I'm also positive that while I'm trying to "be positive," it's hard, because there's a huge difference between being positive of something and being emotionally/psychologically positive. Most people are aware of that difference. So while I try really hard to be emotionally positive, it's not something I usually wake up thinking will happen today. There are still a lot of days I look out the window and it's not the sun I see, but the dirty snowbank and slushy roads. Instead of being proud of my daughters' inquisitiveness and ability to make a mess while learning, playing, and growing, I can't see beyond the clutter.

I can't be sorry for these things I lack positivity over because ... what's the point in apologizing when I'm really not that sorry at all for my thoughts, my feelings, my hurt?

Tomorrow makes it five weeks since my surgery, yesterday was the third blood draw to check my hCG levels. I'm hopeful it's dropped to 0 - last week it was 35; the week before that was 86. It gets me one step closer to knowing I don't need another surgery or the start of chemo. I have a lot of pent up fear that I haven't talked about.

Last Saturday I cried in the bathroom. It had been a couple weeks since the last time.

I had been scrolling through the apps on my phone looking for something and when I went to flip the page on the touchscreen, my thumb hovered just a fraction too long over the pregnancy app I had been using. It was a slap in the face that I was supposed to be a couple days shy of 18 weeks pregnant.

Then I left a group I was in because there were more pregnancy announcements and I decided I'd been strong enough. It's not that I'm not thrilled for my fellow moms; I'm jealous. I want the morning sickness back and the excitement and the fear and ... all of it. I want it back.

I would leave Facebook altogether for a while if that weren't where all my friends live.

Instead, I requested to join a molar pregnancy support group. I haven't posted yet; I just find comfort knowing there's a group for us, that others are on this journey with me, that it's normal to hurt and hurt and hurt some more.

I'm positive there will be more things to feel positive about at some point. Right now, though, I'm positive the waves haven't dragged me so far beneath the surface that I can't bob back up and catch my breath. I lose myself inside books and my own writing. I spend an hour on the couch at night with my husband eating popcorn and watching Netflixed episodes of Burn Notice.

I breathe.

I'm positive my good days finally outnumber my bad days.