Tag Archives: me

And another month.

My temperature dropped today. It’s not an unusual thing for the end of the month, but it was something of an unusual cycle.   I didn’t ovulate until well after 20 days (I’m not exactly sure when), my temperatures have been zig zagging, and on Monday, I saw a teeny tiny drop of blood.  I thought I might be pregnant again.  The timing was right, and I thought that maybe it was implantation bleeding.

Today is the 31st day of this cycle, which is just insane for someone who needs medical intervention to get over 27 days.  And while I’m pretty sure I’m not pregnant, a tiny part of me is still holding out hope.  It probably will be until I see blood, and then I’ll hit a depression for a few hours.  And then I’ll start planning for the next cycle.

It’s a cycle that I’ve gotten used to over this pregnancy planning thing.  I don’t really like it, but I don’t hate it either. I’ve gotten used to the ebbs and flows of my cycles, though they’ve been less consistent after miscarriage than they were before.

I don’t really know if I have a point, or great insight, but I suppose I feel compelled to mark the month where I would have given birth and the true end of this particular journey.

37

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.

40

It’s my birthday today.  I’m 40 years old.

I don’t feel 40. Nor do I think I look 40, though I definitely look like I’ve passed my 20s.  I feel comfortable with who I am and where I’m headed now, though of course I still have hopes and aspirations for my own life.  Now, though, I think about those in the context of raising a child.

I was hopeful that I’d get pregnant before I turned 40.  I didn’t think it would happen earlier this spring.  We only had a few cycles left before I hit this milestone, and so many other cycles were pretty unremarkable.

I don’t think that this is my last birthday that I’ll celebrate, but I know that birthdays going forward will be much more important for someone else than for me.  I’m so looking forward to those days, though.

I have only a few days left until my first appointment. I think that after that I’ll start feeling more legitimately pregnant, even though there are enough changes with my body to confirm it.  I had to buy another bra today, because my older ones are just too small right now.  I think I can feel my uterus beginning to bulge a little, even though it’s not visible yet and won’t be fore some months.

I wonder when I’ll start talking to the baby. I know it’s with me every moment of the day right now, but it feels like an “other”.  Like Fusilli before we picked him up. At some point, though, the baby will feel present, even though we won’t meet on the outside for quite some time.  I know that I’ll talk and sing and explain to the baby while in utero.  There is so much to say, so much to show.

But for now, the baby is more abstract.  It’s lack of physical presence is part of it, though I definitely feel different now that it’s here.  But I think it is also the uncertainty of this first trimester which is so touch and go. I’m sure that getting a sense of growth and heartbeat will help.  But I know that I’m not going to feel all in until I’m out of this trimester and into the second one.