One month ago I took a home pregnancy test that turned up positive. I couldn’t talk about it here because – different since the last time I was pregnant – a lot of regular, real world people read my blog and I didn’t want to have to worry when/if we miscarried about spreading the bad news. My real world peer group is not as privy to my tendency to spontaneously miscarry as you guys are. Only because I stopped introducing myself as, “Kim…the girl with the shitty uterus.”
The next four weeks KILLED ME. I wanted to tell you guys so bad. I wanted to celebrate my good blood work and commiserate about the phantom cramps. I wanted to brag on myself for running 20 miles while pregnant, I wanted to cry when I was scared of another miscarriage. I HATED NOT HAVING YOU GUYS THERE WITH ME like the other times. I told Donnie at least 20 times in those four weeks, “Not being able to blog about this is KILLING ME.”
Then, Sunday, I started bleeding bright, red blood. We had a house full of company for family dinner and I hid in the bedroom crying and asking Twitter for mysterious support.
The bleeding subsided. I had an ultrasound today and I saw the heartbeat! Unfortunately – there’s also evidence of another subchorionic hematoma. Which I had with Nikki, if you’ll remember correctly. The doctor feels like things look good…everything looks sealed up and healing…and my bleeding has stopped. BUT…we are still only cautiously optimistic.
I’m back on progesterone and I’m off running for a week. I’m telling you guys now because I can’t go through this without blogging my stress. I really thought the ultrasound would show a dead fetus, so the heartbeat made me bawl my eyes out. The technician was like, “You’re not out of the woods yet…” “I know,” I said, “but just seeing that heartbeat…it gives me hope.” But, I’m still terrified and still over-analyzing ever tiny phantom cramp I’m having. I’m overeating to cope with stress because I can’t have my nightly beer. I’m crying every time Wes pats the head of the baby brother of Nikki’s soccer teammate. I’m begging the universe: Please…Please let this happen for us.
And I can’t do that without my therapist…this blog. So I’m coming clean. I’m pregnant. About 8 weeks. It’s already been a rough ride and we’ve already cried at potential loss. We’re still not telling Nikki and Wes because they don’t understand my medical history. We told E before we told anyone else, almost. If all goes well, I’ll be producing his last musical with a giant belly and I’ll be holding a new baby at his high school graduation. Please keep your fingers crossed for us. We need all of the hope we can get.