It has been an especially long time since I have written a post. Things have been going well. I remember thinking that if I got bad news with this pregnancy that it would be devastating, yet familiar, and just maybe manageable. Weird, right? Well I feel that over the last year my constant companion has been sadness and pain. So there would be a certain comfort level if we received a bad prognosis. A good prognosis would have been wonderful, but a very new experience at the same time. How would I handle good news, how would I begin to welcome happiness back into my life?
(Well, I’ll let you know how, by bursting into tears in front of the tech and my husband when we received the news: So far, so good, everything is as it should be).
So here I am with hope at my side, and it’s such a surreal feeling. I like this new ‘friend’ called Hope, although I still can’t quite trust her. It’s odd for me to feel Little Miss Tadpole’s movements while staring at the footprints of my Little Emi. I am proud and happy with my rounded and extended belly, but I literally flinch at the thought that I will wound other women that have lost babies or struggle to become pregnant. I wish I could wear a t-shirt that says ‘I lost a baby too’. I wish there was someway I could let the world know that I have suffered too, that I know what pain is. Don’t hate me please, I am part of the club, I will always be a lifetime member.
I feel like I have one foot in and one foot out. I feel like this could just happen inspite of knowing a million and one ways in which things can go freakishly wrong.
But I’ve decided I’m going to trust this BITCH named Hope (sorta).