When I wrote this post, waxing poetic about the ways in which I will love my future daughter(s), I had no idea that I was pregnant.
I also had no idea that 6 days later, I would begin a spin cycle of maybe-you’re-still-pregnant-maybe-you’re-not-could-be-a-miscarriage-but-we-don’t-know-until-we-check-your-blood-then-you’ll-need-an-ultrasound-and-more-blood-work-and-just-be-patient-while-your-whole-world-is-turned-upside-down-and-we-need-more-test-results.
And, by the way…there’s no sign of a baby where there should be a baby.
And it’s also not there…
or there…
The word “ectopic” never passed my lips (and likely never crossed my mind) prior to 20 days ago. Now, the word is embedded in my conscious like no other. It’s in the forefront of my thoughts, my feelings, and I wish I could erase it.
But I can’t.
The word hurts. It makes me feel like a failure. It makes me scared for the future. It makes me yearn even more than before to be a mommy. It makes me have a lump in my throat and a pain in my heart like I’ve never felt before.
Now?
I’m dusting myself off. I’m slowly owning the fact that bad things happen to good people. I’m trying to stop being so mad at the universe for throwing this horrible curve ball at us. Feeling continuously amazed at the way in which Universal timing is always so impeccable (wedding in 2 weeks, check!). I’m trying to remember the innocent and carefree feeling that I felt when I found out I was pregnant. Trying to ignore the fact that now I’m afraid to be pregnant, and for much different reasons than I was before.
…and learning lessons like never before…
I love you guys, and thanks for sticking with me. I’ll soon enough be talking again about everything ELSE going on in my universe. We’ll get through this.
