I’m so desperate for normalcy. No sickness, no traveling, no trips to the ER, and most of all, no stress. (Or at least, less stress, which will happen automatically without those three other things.)
Mason and I are both turning onto the home stretch of these dang colds. I can tell because we’re in the final hacky/phlegmy phase (sorry, I realize that’s completely disgusting), which is probably such a joy for the guy who has to share a bed with me and listen to me cough all night.
The plus side is that Mase has been sleeping like a MANIAC. No lie: he went to bed at 6:30 last night and got up at 9:45 this morning. 9:45!! I almost thought I should wake him up, except that it went against every logical instinct in my body. Instead, I putzed around the house, drank coffee, read blogs, looked in the mirror and realized with horror how much I needed to shower, remembered that I was planning to wait until after my workout (the very first one of this miserable week), drank more coffee, cleaned a few things, and putzed some more.
I know: you can barely keep up with my wild lifestyle.
So there’s one more piece of this whole puzzle that I haven’t told you about yet, and honestly, I’ve been going back and forth all week trying to decide if I should. It’s probably the most personal thing I’ve ever blogged about, but for some reason, I feel like I can’t just keep it to myself.
Along with the cold, and the migraine, and the all-around joy of this week, I also had a miscarriage on Tuesday.
Luckily, it was very early—a little under 5 weeks—and I’d had a bad feeling about the pregnancy from the beginning. With Mason, I remember getting a firmly positive pregnancy test a couple days before my missed period, but this time, it was just the faintest little line on the day I was supposed to get my period. And it stayed faint, which is not a good sign.
But I couldn’t help getting a little excited. My body’s extremely sensitive to hormone changes, so I was already feeling some nausea (it’s no wonder I got plowed over by that migraine as soon as I miscarried). And I may have looked up “baby room ideas” on Pinterest, like, once or twice.
Then, early this week, I started bleeding. A little bleeding isn’t necessarily game-over (the same thing happened with Mason around 5 weeks), but it didn’t stop throughout the day. Or the following day.
Plus, I just knew.
And then there was the worst part: the guilt.
I know that, technically, I didn’t cause this to happen. Or so my doctor assured me. And that 1 in 3 pregnancies end in miscarriage (often, before the woman ever finds out), so it’s not nearly as wild and unusual as most of us think.
But here’s the thing. When Brent and I first started talking about Baby #2, it was in a much more calculated, much less romantic way than the first time around. It was more about the ideal age difference we’d want between kids than anything else. We thought a 2-year age difference sounded good, and decided to start trying this fall.
At the time that decision was made, I was so, so, so not ready for another baby. I couldn’t even fathom it, really. When I saw other babies, I didn’t have that warm “someday, that’ll be us again!” feeling…it was more like, “thank God we’re past that stage.” I couldn’t imagine starting over, with the sleepless nights, and the unpredictability, and the 100% helpless newborn…not to mention doing it all with a toddler, too.
I was honestly baffled when my friends who’d had their first babies around the same time as us were already talking about having another. What?? How are you possibly ready to do this again?
That was at the beginning of the summer. So I figured, well, by the time fall rolls around, hopefully I’ll feel different. And even then, once we get pregnant, we’ll have 9 more months to prepare. People have babies 2 years apart every day, what’s the big deal?
Well, the “deadline” came, and let’s just say I didn’t feel much different. I still couldn’t fathom having another baby.
But we knew we didn’t want to throw in the towel at one kid, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever just magically feel “ready.” (Once you know what having a newborn is like, can you ever just casually sign up for that again?) Honestly, I was starting to worry that the longer we waited, the more comfortable I’d get being out of the Baby Zone and the harder it would be to go back to square one. So we decided to just go for it.
And now, that’s where the guilt comes from. Did I not want this baby enough, and he/she sensed it?
Then, I was being careless about my stress levels (even purposefully piling different things on so I wouldn’t think/worry about the baby thing). And when I couldn’t quite remember which headache med was safe for pregnancy—ibupofren or acetaminophen?—I picked the wrong one. (Acetaminophen is the safe one…I took ibupofren.) I mean: a woman who was really invested in her pregnancy would have taken the 2 seconds to Google that, wouldn’t she? (To be fair, for whatever reason I was really confident I was right about the ibuprofren.)
So that’s where I’m at right now. Trying not to pick apart the details, but also trying to identify and process my feelings about the situation. Thinking about life priorities and trying to sort out what matters and what doesn’t. Making peace with the fact that I’m in this “parents of young kids” stage of life, and that there’s not a lot of room for other big, new things during this stage, but there’s plenty of room on the other side of it. Some things will just have to wait.
Anyway, the whole thing has definitely been a wake-up call for me. And I know that if we do get pregnant again, my head and body will be in a much better place than they were this time around.
Thanks for listening…