Pregnant, that is.
Yes, I was. And No, I'm not now. At our OB appointment last month, the doctor gave us the green light to start trying for #2. We took the "don't prevent, but don't make a huge effort" approach. On Joe's birthday, on a whim and on the last POAS test in the house, I decided to test. It was 11 dpo. And it came up positive.
He and I both were in shock. We spent 24 hours reveling in the wonder of an "easy" time getting pregnant. We thought of baby names and speculated about how Emma might feel. We learned we'd be due in mid-April, and had all kinds of ideas about what milestones we'd enjoy at different times of years.
Unfortunately, the next day's test was fainter. And the day after that, the test was negative. My hCG levels were at 36 the first day (fairly normal for 11dpo) but 18 yesterday. I'm having a "chemical" pregnancy. AF should show up soon.
I'm devastated, of course. I thought the universe was doing me a great favor, and maybe making up for the horrible time we had trying to get Emma. I guess it's just another slap in the face. And no matter what they call it, I'm calling it my fourth miscarriage. I've been pregnant 5 times, and I have one living baby.
I'm taking tomorrow as a mental health day. In the morning, by myself I'm taking time to reflect, to cry and to just let myself grieve. In the afternoon, I'm getting Emma and as a family, we're going to go out and spend time together. I want to appreciate the living child I have, even as I grieve what "might" have been.
No comments:
Post a Comment