Let's just get it out of the way right now: I'm sick, and I'm not pregnant.
I'm much more upset about the second one than the first, as it means we will end this year the same way we began it. That's a really hard pill for me to swallow. Seriously? Ugh. Double ugh. It also means that next month, we will have been trying as long as it takes to make a baby in the first place.
The first one caused the cancellation (optimistically, the postponement) of our annual Christmas party.
I have to say thank you though to all of you who took time to say a little prayer for us. I've felt your prayers. Maybe that's silly; although it may not seem like it based on my writing above, I do have more peace about our "no" this month than I have in the past. It's a set back, but not a complete, knock-the-wind-out-of-me sock in the gut like it has been.
This waiting is so hard. I can't adequately find words to describe how challenging this chapter has been. There are so many worse things, so I suppose my "hard" chapter is what many would call priviledged. It's not the loss of a child. It' not a sick or hungry child. I would take this over those things any day of the week. Forever.
But the ache. The wanting. The rollercoaster of hope and denial. It's maddening.
Even as I write this, I'm still holding on to the slim chance that this might be impantation bleeding. I'm 98% sure this round is over, but oh, that 2%. It's why I take my coffee decaf. It's why, even though I feel awful, I won't take any NyQuil when I go to bed tonight. I'd never, ever gamble that 2% chance. So I'll go to bed tonight without any medicine, and in 2 days when it's solidly over, I'll feel like an idiot that I didn't just take the meds since it wasn't any harm to anybody.
This is a crazy way to live, month after month. Without any definitive end in sight.
I'm not complaining - not really, anyway. I'm just sharing the reality. I don't know how people do this for years on end, except that I know, having had Leah, that it will all be worth it. I'm just so ready that it is painfully hard to wait.
September. I'm optimistic that we're getting a September baby. I've been wrong before, and maybe I'm destined to be wrong again, but I've felt this pull about September literally since before we started trying. I was stunned when I got pregnant in August, because I expected September. I lost both babies in September. There's something about it that just fits.
Or, I'm just a trying-to-get-pregnant junkie. Like the gambler who, despite losing each hand, continues to believe in just one more.
In this case, though... what else is there?