I need you to be totally nonchalant for a minute.
Are you cool?
So, last Monday night, I got the faintest positive pregnancy test that ever existed in the history of positive pregnancy tests.
Since then, they’ve gotten a bit darker, which indicates products of conception are attaching themselves to my Uterine Wall of Horrors.
But no one is allowed to get excited about this. Do you hear me?
Please remember: A positive pregnancy test does not a baby make.
Granted, with a positive test or 12, your chances are marginally higher that you will have a baby one day. But in my case, I’ve had just as many babies WITH a test like this than WITHOUT. And with an 0-1 record, odds are even less in my favor this round.
But! As the gal with a Personal Vendetta against the 12-week rule, (I WILL ABOLISH YOU, RULE!) I am telling “early.” Like, before I’ve even gone to the Doctor. (is it April 27 yet?) Plus, I already had a miscarriage, so I’m pretty sure that means I get to do whatever I want.
You’d think I would have learned my lesson, and that I would be even less likely to spill the beans, but here’s the secret: The fact that people know about your dead baby is not what hurts. It’s mostly just the dead baby part. If anything, the Knowing People provide the support to pull you out of the Abysmal Shithole. At least the large majority of them. So I am letting you come with me on this journey. In fact, I am making you come with me. Suckers! My only rule is this:
You are responsible to untell everyone you’ve told. Keep a list handy for when this all goes to pot in a few weeks.
Oh, well! … I hope the baby inherits her positive attitude!
I hope you know in the back of your minds that this will probably determine whether something is wrong with me, or whether the last round was a “fluke.” Granted, you have to have THREE before they’ll label it “abnormal” (holy precious savior jesus. seriously. lord god almighty.) but I know as well as you that I am incapable of handling that ever again.
I’m warning you God! (via blog again … hopes he checks his RSS!)
At least we’ve determined that it’s relatively easy for us to get pregnant, right? Believe me, I know how lucky we are in that respect. (Cranks, feel free to hate me. Make a voodoo doll or something. It is well deserved.)
It’s just the rest that is the hard part. This is likely because on the day of conception, Seth’s sperm woke up at 6 a.m., dragged my egg’s tired ass out of bed kicking and screaming, packed her lunch, drove her into work and sent her on her way. After that, the sperm unfortunatly cannot stick around to remind the egg to pay the bills on time, do the dishes, and for heaven’s sake, does it take that much effort to just pick up a little bit before you go to bed every night?
Basically, I would die alone in a crappy, dirty apartment watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians or something if it weren’t for Seth Teter. Could my egg/uterus/chromosomes be that much different?
So. No cheers. No excitement. No trinkets. No hardware.
Only reserved, knowing smiles. Ok, so maybe you can give me a fist bump (or its virtual equivalent) if you see me. But that is the MAXIMUM. Cause Seth is flat-out refusing to believe that it’s actually true. I am, well, just picking up on old, much more sober habits, and waiting for the bleeding to start. The anxiety is crippling. But I’m working through it.
If the wheels don’t fall off before T2, we can celebrate then, which, you might guess, is also … June 1. Or better yet, when the kid graduates from college.
Until then, I guess initially I will add “making a placenta” to the to-do list.
Thank you for your prayers.
I said THANK YOU FOR PRAYING CONSTANTLY EVERY MOMENT OF YOUR WAKING LIFE STARTING RIGHT NOW! (agnostics NOT excluded.)
Ps- the estimated computer-generated due date is Dec. 4, which is the same day we found out last year about Tot One.
Welcome to Weird City, USA.
You may quietly start rooting for me now. And go.
… Better yet, can you give me something to root for about you? Cause honestly, I could use the distraction.
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