I think I'm experiencing what they call Ups and Downs.  In particular, I'm in a Down.  Earlier today I was so happy to take a bath, because my feet felt so clean.  And finally, FINALLY, there was no grease seeping down to gunk up my inner thighs.  I actually got stuff done, like I set up an interview for a job (it's a long-term temp job, but a job nonetheless), sold one of my quilts, and most importantly, listened to and deleted all my answering machine messages on three separate phone lines.  I felt so relieved because finally I could not worry about IVF and being pregnant, and I could finally move on with real life.Then I called my husband and said in my most lovable voice, "how are you?" and he said, "BAD."  And then he complained about his clients and his job and how he wasn't going to have time to get away this weekend, like he had promised.  So I got mad at him for not being there for me (in the middle of our phone hug, he had to go to answer the other line with a client on it!!  The nerve!) so I took a nap and turned off the phone ringer.  To my surprise and fury, he had not called by the time I woke up.  So I set the alarm for even later.  He still didn't call.Mad, I drove to my therapy appointment.  I saw a yellow balloon floating away from a child in a parking lot, and I thought about my little embryos floating away from me.  I remembered yesterday when I saw a Good Humor ice cream truck on the highway in front of me.  It said, "STOP for children."  I thought, "That seems unsafe, but if it will work, I'll do it."  On the radio U2 sang "With or without you, I can't live, with or without you oh oh."  And a special alarm had notified every pregnant woman, or every woman who looked like she might be pregnant and/or have kids at home and/or have ever had kids in her life, to go outside and stand on the sidewalk at once.  I drove around and around the pregnant women standing on the street and could not find a parking place.  I finally parked in a No Parking Never Ever Ever spot and went to therapy while my car acquired a $30 ticket.  Dr. Brown opened her door and I got up from the waiting room chair.  I took two steps -- halfway to her door -- and burst out into tears.  I feel empty.  I feel like my two sweet babies, whose pictures I SAW,whose petri cradle they gave us for a souvenir, died and went away.  They were half James, half me.  Maybe one of them was a little blond-haired boy with big blue eyes that smiled when he woke up.  Maybe one of them was a curly red-headed girl who liked to draw.  Or let's mix it up - red haired boy.  Blonde girl with brown eyes.  Brown eyes smiling.  Blond artist.  Which one of them liked to learn languages?  Which was good at science?  Where did they go?  Didn't they know what fun they'd have here?  They'd have a big sister, Sarah the cat, and we'd feed them heart-shaped waffles and snow-men-shaped pancakes.  I'm a really good singer and I was made to sing lullabys.  I know a lot of them.  I can sing the sweetest lullaby you ever heard.  I can sing anyone to sleep.  But my babies went to sleep and didn't wake up.  They washed out to sea.  Where did they go?  Will they think of us?I called James, crying, mad that he wasn't here for me.  He was in his car, stuck in traffic, blocking a whole lane of cars, wishing we'd bought the fancier-model car that had the Inspector Gadget long-legged wheels that would have let him drive over the cars in front of him.  But we'd foolishly thought a regular Toyota Matrix was sufficient.  Hindsight is 20/20.When he gets home he's going to take me to Linda's Cafe, and get me a hamburger.  I've never been there but I hear it's good.  I want a hamburger whose patty was formed by someone's hands.I miss my babies' hands.  They never formed, but the DNA in their 240 little cells already knew what their hands would look like.  What would they do?  Would they cook?  Would they sew?  Garden?  Heal the sick?  Type at a keyboard?  Hold their first sweetheart's hand in a sweaty clench?  I miss them.I miss my babies.  Oh, I miss them so much.