I would have been 37 weeks pregnant this week. That’s more or less when it’s not so dangerous to deliver. The extra three weeks are for cooking time, but delivery any point between now and 42 is not particularly unexpected. Since I was carrying twins, maybe I would have been induced or scheduled for a C-section early. But then, if I hadn’t been carrying twins, maybe it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. Maybe that particular sperm or that particular egg or that particular combination of genes was more at fault for the miscarriage than the fact that the blastocyst split. It’s impossible to know, and it’s not really worth dwelling on.
I knew that this would be a hard time for me. And it has been. And it hasn’t been. Every now and then I think about it and I get sad. But it’s not all consuming or dominating. I forget about it a lot.
After the D&C, I was remarkably ok with things. We didn’t really tell that many people about it until July. I think most of our close friends know now, but it wasn’t something I was particularly wanting to talk about when it first happened. But at the same time, I wasn’t destroyed by it. It was hard and awful and I don’t want to go through it again. But at the same time, it wasn’t the end of the world for me or for Graham. And to be honest, until the due date started rapidly approaching, I didn’t think about that particular pregnancy much at all.
My mind plays a lot of what-if’s games. I probably wouldn’t have even considered talking to that new job if we’d been able to carry the pregnancy to term. I probably would have tons of Christmas presents for the babies, even though they weren’t due until a few days after. Maybe we would have moved forward on the house expansion already? I’d be ready to pop any second, hoping that the weeks would fly by sooner so I could meet them.
But instead, we’re still trying. I’m a little worried because my cycles have been abnormal once or twice since the miscarriage. This cycle, it took forever to ovulate, and I’m pretty sure that it’ll be closer to 32 days long rather than my usual 26 or so. In September, I had one that was 23 days. Graham has also been a little worried, but he’s more proactive and went to a doctor and is doing something. I’m instead trying to lose what would have been baby weight. I forgot that I stress eat, and I’m not feeling particularly good about my body.
Still, I am hopeful that we will be able to get me pregnant, and the next time will be much, much better than the first. I was hoping to be pregnant by my due date, but I think that’s very unlikely unless I pee on a stick next week.